Tag: readers

Close Call

Close Call

Just a bit tipsy when I left the Cannery Row bar, the hour was Ten PM, and I knew there were business calls to be made in Monterey the next day just as there was with this day ending. I walked down the lighted street until I came to the alleyway where I earlier parked my car. It was a short alleyway from the main street into a relatively small unlighted parking lot between a cluster of tall brick buildings.

The thought did occur to me that I could be an easy prey in this special part of the California I once knew. Maybe it was more than a thought. Perhaps it was a premonition.

John Steinbeck made this little piece of the world famous with his book, Cannery Row, in 1945, a story set during the Great Depression about the ‘earthy’ people of the author’s memory going back to 1930 of the men and women who lived bawdy lives, drank, and died. 1945 was the year the ‘seiners’ brought in 250,000 tons of sardines, the final year of such heavy yield. The following year was 25,000 tons of sardines. Despite the warnings from marine biologists, the sardine cannery and sardines would be seined out of existence.

Back to my woeful tale, I stepped from the alley into a parking area of pitch-black darkness. My tie was loose around my neck and my white shirt was slipping out of my trousers all rumpled. I looked the part of a drunken sot, but without the weaving and swaying. To some extent, that rumpled image can be taken as true…just a bit too much entertaining the clients seen that day.

So, into the blackness I went. Suddenly, from the darkness came two young men, each grabbing an arm, the one to my right was consistently punching me just above my bicep.

“Give us your wallet, mofo!” one thug whispered with emphasis that begged to be heeded.

Dumbfounded, I complied with the demand and handed over my wallet. The hoodlum on my right was still punching me above my bicep while gripping so tightly I could only feel the jolts.

Just as quickly as the two bad boys grabbed me, it was over. They ran quickly away into the blackness, while I stood momentarily staggered with incipient anger and frustration building. It quickly dawned on me that all my credit cards and some hundred-plus dollars were in my wallet.

I hurried from the parking lot down the short alleyway and called the police. When two officers arrived, I gave them the information that I had which was precious little, gave them my temporary lodging address – the Casa Munras, in Monterey, if memory serves correctly.

It was only when I returned to Casa Munras and began to pull my suit coat off that I noticed my blood-soaked right sleeve. The young punk was not punching me. He was stabbing me with a pocket-knife. The police prior obviously figured I knew about the bloody coat arm.

My wallet was found sometime during the next day in a street near Cannery Row.

Thankfully, my credit cards were all there. The money was gone.

I love John Steinbeck, studied him in college along with Ernest Hemingway and other notable American novelists, but, John, I won’t be visiting Cannery Row again – except through the pages of your classic book.

Incidentally this little scrap of a story is true of a younger me during my educational rep days.

Billy Ray Chitwood – June 1, 2019

Please preview my books:

https://billyraychitwood.com

Please follow my blog:

https://brchitwood.com

Please follow me on Twitter:

https://twitter.com/brchitwood

‘A Meeting With The Shrink in Silly-Town’

[Image by Macela Laskoski]

‘A Meeting With The Shrink in Silly-Town’

The Psychiatrist asks, what’s the problem? to the fink.

I’m apathetic, brain-drained, and want a drink!

Well, what’s your problem, do you think?

You hard of hearing, or, what? I didn’t blink!

But that’s what I do, dumb-ass! I get paid to think!

Well, why am I here, almighty Shrink?

You already gave the reason. Is there more to the link?

You, guys! All you do is ask questions that stink!

Well, what exactly should happen, do you think?

Know what? Your questions drive me to that drink!

Then, we’ve accomplished something here, I think.

Yeah, sure, you made $150 bucks in an eye’s blink!

Now, now, relax. How ‘bout that amount with a chink?

How much of a chink, do you think?

Ah, what the heck, I’ll give a 5% chink.

You’re a loon! 5%? You belong in the clink!

You’re testing my good nature, I think.

You think, you dink? I’m gone for a drink.

But, wait, my fee with a 10% chink?

Up yours, shrink, with a chink, to the clink, I think.

Your truly, Billy Ray Chitwink

Please preview my books at:

https://billyraychitwood.com

Please follow my blog at:

https://brchitwood.com

Please follow me on Twitter:

https://twitter.com/brchitwood

 

Hey, World!

15241296_10210589180546815_7619236045342556019_n (1)
-Hey, World!-

Hey, World,
Look at my girl…
She’s standing right here
Beside me.
Hey, World,
I’m in a whirl…
I’ve found the girl
For me.

She’s lovely,
And, Wow!
Those Eyes…
She’s Lovely,
She’s Paradise,
She’s Lovely,
Just One of a Kind,
Hands Off, World,
She’s All Mine!
*
She moves with the grace
Of an Angel,
She’s Diff’rent in her own
Special Way.
All that I’ve longed for,
A lady with Style,
Hey, World –
Outta my way!
She’s lovely,
Just One of a Kind…
Hands Off, World!
She’s All Mine…

An Up-Beat Stylish Song by: Billy Ray Chitwood

Please preview my books at:

https://billyraychitwood.com

Please follow my blog at:

https://brchitwood.com

Please follow me on Twitter:

https://twitter.com/brchitwood

Appalachia and Me

Appalachia and Me

Standing at the window I could see her working in the earth, planting her garden, a plot of ground she alone had created on the hard prairie soil of our eighty-acre ‘Lazy Rabbit Ranch’

My emotions were trade-mark soft and tender with no discernable reason. Tears welled and fell down my cheeks. It was at that time when gout attacks were frequent in my life, had me limping in painful, short steps. I wanted to be there in the garden with my wife, sharing the joy of her moments. The tears lasted for a brief period until I turned them off, returned to the library to render time typing on my Star Writer Word processor.

Time and again my mind slipped away from the characters and plot lines of the book I was writing on the Star Writer, slipping back to my wife in the garden, then, into assessing the emotional source of my tears. Of course, I quickly rid my mind of the gout pain being the root cause of sob-time…it was so much more than that.

My life at the Lazy Rabbit Ranch was rather rich with melodramatic episodic introspections, likely sufficient enough to abundantly satisfy any reclining position taken on a psychiatrist’s sofa. Plus, it would surely be a dead give-away to mention that, yes, I was also born in Appalachia…well, of course, dear boy, that is what Appalachian lads do so very well. How else can history explain our cornball evocative ‘country music’, honky-tonk romances ‘on the fly’, and those multiple divorce court appearances?

Well, sure, I could laugh at myself along with my agents of disregard. However, were my copious life tears simply ‘crocodile’ in nature? Were my myriad emotional tendencies, my basic earthly and inherent needs, so easily explained away?

My hasty conclusion would not necessarily surprise anyone, but I said at the time – and, I say now – No, they were not… they are not.

This may be fundamental to many people, but, hey, I was just getting it – right then, ‘after all those tear-years’, right then, at the Lazy Rabbit Ranch ‘cry episode’.

The ‘gout attack’ was not the sole reason for the crying.

Pardon my flippancy, but it was the south where all those degenerate, debt-owing, thieves in the night were deposited when they arrived from across the pond from Europe. I’m guessing that after a while we had some sweet and pure genteel groups coming into Appalachia mixing with our chromosomic/genetic machinery, getting us all ‘cornfused’ about proper etiquette, language, books, and stuff. Shucks, we could have had our own country by now, just wheeling, dealing, killing, and dying way too young…if the ‘genteel groups’ had just stayed away.

Sitting there that day at my lovely mahogany desk the way I figured it was: with so many low IQ folks, mixing their vulgarities with the stealing and killing, their mindless behaviors, by the time I came out of my Mom’s womb, I was doomed to be a sort of half-breed…that is, part of me got some of that ‘rough and tumble’ stuff, and the other part got some of those genteel qualities.

Just like then, I can’t figure out why I’m crying now.

Hmm, I’m wondering… My wife is outside, working on another darn flower garden. Is she trying to tell me something?

Guess I better get to writing another book.

Billy Ray Chitwood – April 3, 2019

Please preview all my books at:

https://www.billyraychitwood.com

Please follow my blog at:

https://www.brchitwood.com

Please follow me on Twitter:

https://twitter.com/brchitwood

Oo-La-La

Oo-La-La

I was fixed to the spot, could not move, did not wish to move, my eyes absorbing every nuance of movement her body made. She was without question the most beautiful model ever seen by these aging orbs. Her curves caused me to emit an unexaggerated ‘Oo-la-la’! All my senses were alerted to her beauty, and it no longer mattered that the people standing nearby could see my drool. If ever there was a more exquisite shape of loveliness, lines so perfectly molded…Ooh, be still, my heart! Transfixed as I was in those moments, nothing mattered more than that body in front of me. I had to have it, and have it I would! No one would talk me out of having that body! It was mine! All mine.

I grabbed the nearest hungry-looking salesman and purchased that dream-car on the spot.

Eat you heart out, world!

She’s all mine!

Shiny and New!

All mine!

Billy Ray Chitwood – February, 2019

Please preview my books at:

https://billyraychitwood.com

Please follow my blog at:

https://brchitwood.com

Please follow me on Twitter:

https://twitter.com/brchitwood

 

The Old Barn

The chill in the air and the darkness prevailed in the little town, and they searched everywhere for a place to rest their weary bodies. There were no rooms available at this hour of the evening, and they were desperate to be delivered from the chill that was fast becoming frigid. To add to the woes of the young couple, the wife was with child.

               On the outskirts of town as the night became darker and more unnerving in its coldness the couple saw in the distance an old red barn with light presented through a small cut-out on the side facing them.

               The couple made their way to the barn of little light. Arriving at the old clap-board structure, a rotted entry door hanging loosely from a rusty hinge and nails. Entering the barn, the couple noticed the low light was coming from a stall some twenty feet away. They approached the opening where the light shone and saw a man on a bed of straw with a young foal trying to stand on its new legs.

               The man heard the rustle of feet on straw-laden earth, turned and saw the young couple. The mother of the foal died in the offering of her foal. The man had tears in his eyes for his dead friend who had been with him so many years. The tears were also for the lovely foal and its needs. It was as though the foal with its soft moaning sounds knew that its mother would not be there to nurture and provide for it.

               The man lifted his wife from the donkey and started to place her on a stretch of straw nearby, but the man on the straw-bed next to the foal bade the couple to come to the light and the ambient warmth. “Please, put your wife here where my body has created warmth for her and the child to be… I’m sorry I can offer no more. My home is there in the distance, now in ashes from a lightning strike. I have been staying here with my old friend, LeAnn, who has served me so well through the years. After a long space of labor and much pain, LeAnn simply had not the strength to bring her foal to life and sustain him on her own. We had our final moments together just before your arrival… Forgive me, please allow your wife to rest here. The bread and the few food edibles there on the small table. Please, nourish yourselves with what is there.”

               “Are you married, good sir?” The man helped his wife to the straw bed.

               “My good wife died one year ago today. She is in a good place, now, after much pain and suffering. My bed is two stalls down. You rest beside your wife after I move the foal to my stall.”

               “But, where is the foal’s mother, kind sir?”

               “Buried just beyond the barn.”

               “Yes, we saw the marker… You are so kind to us. There were no rooms to be had in the town, and I was worried for my wife.”

               “She will be fine here for tonight. Tomorrow, I will help you more. Is your wife close to delivery time?”

               “Yes. Any day, good sir. Your kindness means so very much to us. I should like to pay you for that kindness.”

               “There is no need for that. I have plenty of money should I want the luxuries of life, my new friend. I choose to live the way I do, away from those who live in wickedness, those who live to take from those good but gullible folks who know no better. Please, do not worry about me, I am in the element I wish to be. Now, please, take what comfort you can from my humble quarters here. Tomorrow, whatever your plans, I shall help you achieve them. Are you comfortable there, dear lady?”

                The wife gave a sad and warm smile to the man and nodded her thanks. My wife cannot hear you, kind sir. She is deaf and has been since birth. I thank you for both of us and my donkey, Sam.”

                “We have not shared our names, but my name is Peter Warmsley.”

               “My name is David Metters, my wife is Sarah.”

               The men shook hands.

               “My foal and I are off to our beds… Ah, but wait, what shall we call my foal. What wondrous name shall she bear? Any ideas, my new friends?”

               They thought for minutes, smiling, enjoying the moments of camaraderie. “Does the name, Jacob, please you?” The man thought but for a few seconds.

               “Indeed, it does. ‘Jacob’ is a good and solid name for this beautiful foal.”

               With that, the man, picked up ‘Jacob’ and began to leave the stall.

               “Tomorrow, we shall discuss your needs, my new friends, your travel plans, to what ends you seek. I wish you good night, David and blessed be Sarah who carries a child of grace.” Then, Peter left David and Sarah.

               As Peter walked away with Jacob, David said to the parting Peter, “And that will be the name of our child, good Peter. Sleep well and in peace, Peter and Jacob.”

               In some monumental way, David and Sarah’s lives changed that night of December 24, 1963.

A bright star twinkled outside the cut-out window, providing light through the night.

Billy Ray Chitwood – December 21, 2018

https://www.billyraychitwood.com

https://www.brchitwood.com

THE PICKETT FACTOR

THE PICKETT FACTOR

by Billy Ray Chitwood

ANOTHER BIG FLASH: 

My New Book NOW AVAILABLE ON AMAZON:

BUY SITES:

KINDLE: Amazon US

PAPERBACK: Amazon US

KINDLE: Amazon UK

PAPERBACK: Amazon UK

download (20)download (20)download (20)download (20)download (20)

                                                              Untitled design (9)

A Novel by Billy Ray Chitwood

An Explosive Book Inspired by True Events!

E-Book and Paperback

on Amazon

Also available on: Apple – B/N – Kobo – Tolino

download (20)download (20)download (20)download (20)download (20)

SYNOPSIS:

A novel inspired by true events but fictionalized in its narrative…

Some strange criminal elements are at work in the small town of Mackland, PA: a Mackland patrol officer is ambushed and murdered in 2013; a mother and common law wife goes missing in 2015; the missing woman’s father is killed in a suspicious hunting accident in 2016 -was he getting too close to some truths about his daughter’s disappearance? a mother and daughter are brutally murdered in 2014 – the mother’s & daughter’s throats are slashed, then shot separately in their bedrooms (the daughter went to high school with the missing woman’s daughter); at least two drug gangs operate in the small town, brazenly attacking citizens and bragging about bigger crimes they’ve committed…there’s more, and the town has only 11,000 + population. The lovely town of Mackland has historic eminence and receives thousands of visitors every year.Attorney at Law Brady Pickett of neighboring large city of Graniteville, PA, only twenty minutes from Mackland, takes up the gauntlet after a young man phones from prison to tell Pickett he has been ‘railroaded’ with false drug charges and murder charges are to be forthcoming. Brady Pickett visits the young inmate in Lewisburg and tapes the details of the young man’s declaration of innocence and becomes a strong believer in the verity of the taped testimony. Along with his old college friend, now Chief of Police in Mackland, Ed Billups, along with JD Brewer, a seasoned special investigator and friend, the three men and those police officers that can be trusted, fight an uphill battle to relieve the small town of its urchins of evil.

This novel has a lovely narrative flow with some well-placed levity and folksy humor, and the characters are drawn with some deft strokes of the pen. While at times tense and absorbing, it is also a delightful novel, all brought together by an author of sixteen other romance, mystery,  suspense novels, and memoirs. It is a novel that mystery and suspense lovers will without doubt enjoy.

– GET YOUR COPY TODAY –

– BUY SITES ABOVE –

Billy Ray Chitwood – October 29, 2018

Please Preview All My Books At:

https://billyraychitwood.com

Please Follow My Blog At;

https://brchitwood.com

Please Follow Me On Twitter:

https://twitter.com/brchitwood

 

“The Pickett Factor”

THE PICKETT FACTOR

    Okay, another book promotion, my latest creation – 17th, overall… Seems everyone is launching a new book, and I can say without any resentment whatsoever, congratulations to all those authors.

    What makes THE PICKETT FACTOR one of the best books I’ve written? ‘Oh, how do I love thee, let me count the ways’!

    First of all, it’s a book about crimes NOW being investigated that have taken place in the past few years in my backyard, that is, in the state where I live. Yes, it’s a book of fiction depicting actual crimes, still unsolved to this day, that span the last five years, crimes that a small, beautiful town of national prominence should not experience. Of, course, in my fictional narrative, all crimes covered are solved. Not so in the real life drama…that factual ending is yet to come.

    Second, instead of the state where I live, I’ve moved all the action to the state of Pennsylvania, a state of which I have familiarity, a state where I attended college and received my Bachelor of Arts Degree. While in college, and during a course in ‘Criminalogy’ my class visited some of the penal institutions in the state, not the least of which was USP Lewisburg, a site that holds the ‘worst of the worst’ kinds of criminals and predators. It was important NOT to have the action in the book take place in the actual state and town of its origin because of the on-going investigation that is taking place.

    Third, while I love all the books I’ve written, THE PICKETT FACTOR was the most enjoyable book to write and read of any I’ve penned – yet, as I start thinking about the others, so many come to mind, and I begin to feel guilty. Let me just say, all my books were enjoyable writing experiences, and from the reviews, I can also believe they were fun reads. In my humble opinion, certainly some of those books should be in the main stream of publishing. I blame my marketing ineptness in this digital world for the fact they are not.

    Fourth, in this book, I’ve tried for some humorously folksy chatter along with the very serious business of criminal investigation taking place. That added to the enjoyment of the writing. It’s my hope the readers will also enjoy the sometime ‘comic relief’ in the narrative…it rather fits my style. Oh, and one other tidbit, there should be no ‘exclamation marks’ in this book. If there are, we have a mysterious occurrence.

    Fifth, content-wise, it is hard to imagine a reader putting down this book while reading. The crimes portrayed are enough to keep a reader flipping the pages… Briefly, to summarize, five years ago, a police officer for the small town in question was ambushed and murdered on the way home from his shift. Two years later, a mother of four children, the baby of the four from her live-in boyfriend, disappeared and has yet to be found. The father of this missing mother is killed in what was termed a ‘hunting accident’ while out with his grandson. No one in the small town believes it was an accident. In 2014, a mother and daughter are slashed and shot to death in their bedrooms. Add to this mix a murder in 1979 that could play into this overall complex of crimes. There are also at least two or more drug groups operating in the small town, hoodlums who brazenly flaunt the law and attack citizens. I’ve tried diligently to find the connections in this most unique and thrilling set of crimes 

Finally, the reader will enjoy the fictional attorney in the neighboring town and his old college pal, the fictional chief of police of the subject town’s police department, working together to solve these mysteries. There is romance, love, and family on display in this book as well. Being a fictional book, there will be conclusions drawn by an author’s imaginative mind. I dare say, when and if these criminal elements are one day truly solved, the ending to THE PICKETT FACTOR will no doubt pale by comparison. Just so you know, this book’s ending is rather spectacular.

One last word, I would welcome, PLEASE, all those in ‘the neighborhood’ to help me launch THE PICKETT FACTOR. The request is most humbly posted on knees that are bruised from the kneeling.

Can you help me to make this a successful launh?

THE PICKETT FACTOR

If the blue background works, fine, but WHICH COVER WOULD YOU SELECT FOR THE TITLE? Let me know. Thank you.

Untitled design         Untitled design (4)

                    1                                                      2

Untitled design (7)         0001-266333183

   3                                                     4                                                             

 

Billy Ray Chitwood – October 22, 2018

Please Preview my Books at:

https://billyraychitwood.com

Please Follow my Blog at:

https://brchitwood.com

Please Follow me:

 

 

 

‘Happy’

‘Happy’

The light bright sorrel mare with a flaxen mane and tail came to the fence, quickly ate the apple, turned and trotted off neighing and twirling in a delightful display of ‘thanks’! I laughed along with its joy and it pranced around in a circle, eyeing me in my joy.

“Come, ‘Happy’,” I called, and it came to the fence again.

I rubbed ‘Happy’s’ long snout and leaned over the fence and kissed her between the eyes, her tail wagging with delight.

“Would you like me to ride you this afternoon? I’ll ride you bareback and forget that old saddle. Would you like that?”

Happy lifted its regal head in a definite yes.

Wearing sneakers, denims, and a pale blue tee-shirt I put my left foot on the middle wooden crossing on the fence and jumped aboard Happy.

“Okay, Happy, I’ve got your mane, run with the wind and get some exercise.”

Much like a race horse, ‘Happy’ broke and dashed away, accustomed to my near-200-pound weight and knew that I was not worried about her speed. Off she went down into the pasture-land of our 500-acre ranch.

It was a glorious day with clear blue sky and slight zephyr-like breezes as ‘Happy’ galloped, careful not to make sudden turns as I was without benefit of saddle and stirrups and possibly could lose my balance. I gave ‘Happy’ her freedom of direction and hanged on to her mane, leaning forward with my chin almost touching her bobbing head.

There was a stand of trees and a knoll after clearing the pasture and ‘Happy’ took me in that direction. The exhilaration of the ride was what I so badly needed after the argument with Margo over the bills and the money to pay them.

The thing was, we had no financial problems. We had money to live on for the rest of our lives. There was no need to worry, to fret about bills and the paying of them. Margo came from a good solid background of Irish ancestry and instilled in her was sort of frantic penchant for keeping up with and paying monthly bills instantly.

So, we argued to the point of my becoming irritated with the senseless argument and walked away from her as she continued to rail on about the bills.

She would be fine by the time I returned from this Saturday morning gallop, and, definitely, so would I.

On the knoll and now slowed to a canter, ‘Happy’ seemed somehow disturbed by something, “What is it, ‘Happy’? An animal of some kind, a snake? It was as if I expected ‘Happy’ to answer me, but then, I, too, heard the desperate sound that was upsetting her, actually, more a scream some distance away. I tugged at ‘Happy’s’ Mane toward the direction of the scream and headed in that direction.

There, between the trees, a man was assaulting a woman. ‘Happy’s’ baying got the man’s attention as I nudged ‘Happy’ to move faster toward the assault.

When ‘Happy’ slowed, I jumped from the horse and collided with the now standing man, half-dressed and menacing with a knife in his right hand. I dodged one thrust from the knife, and ‘Happy’ weaving head dodged the next thrust…at least, I thought so. But, in my side vision I saw blood running down ‘Happy’s’ neck area. That infuriated me and I rushed, tackled the man, and slammed my fists into his body and face. His knife went flying as kept up my own assault, mindful of the weeping lady and my wounded ‘Happy’.

When the man no longer moved I assumed he was unconscious and rose from his body. Checking on ‘Happy’s’ wound I found it was just a scratch. As I turned toward the lady, she yelled, “He’s getting up.” I turned and with my right haymaker the man went down and stayed down. ‘Happy’ moved over the man and placed a front hoof on his chest.

The lady had stopped sobbing. She told me what happened. She thought he was a nice guy. She met him at a girlfriend’s afternoon party, and he invited her to go for a ride in his new Corvette.

I looked off to the right and there was a shiny white Corvette parked on the shoulder of the farm road. I reached inside the man’s denim left pocket and found the car keys for the Corvette and slipped them into my own pocket.

The young lady was not seriously hurt. ‘Happy’ and I came along just in time. I went to the Corvette and marked the license plate in my head. I got astride ‘Happy’ and pulled the young lady up and behind me. We went back to the ranch house and found my wife standing by the fence with tears in her eyes.

I kissed my wife and introduced the young lady whose name she had not given. Lacy LaGreen was her name, and I knew the family.

I first called the police, gave directions to the man and his car, told them I had his car keys and would give them up when a resolution was made on the man’s assault and/or I would pass them on to the police for their disposition, to relay them on to the man’s family.

The young lady was most thankful to ‘Happy’ and me. Lacy would become both a good friend of my wife and me, but, to ‘Happy’s’ delight, a new riding partner.

The young man would eventually get a reduced sentence of 30-days jail time, and would blame the assault on too much alcohol.

Flash Fiction by Billy Ray Chitwood -October 21, 2018

Please Preview my Books at:

https://www.billyraychitwood.com

Please Follow my Blog at:

https://www.brchitwood.com

Please Follow me on:

https://twitter.com/brchitwood

Best Part of My Day

 Best Part of My Day

Ah, it’s Monday! I’ve done my exercises! I’ve shaved, showered, had my one cup of coffee, my English Muffins – crisp, with butter, cream cheese, and strawberry preserves, my glass of milk, and I’ve thanked my good wife. Oh, and I’ve given Lady Gray her ‘Temptations’ treat!

Except for the exercises, shave, and shower, all the rest takes place laid-back in my ‘Lazy-boy’ recliner. Hey, just saying, everybody has to be somewhere!

Then comes my ‘think period’. I’m writing my seventeenth novel. It’s a fictionalized mind-buzz about an actual crime here in my state (my geographic location), and I’m really on a ‘tear’, letting the words fly onto that magical laptop screen. The ‘think period’ comes with a perfect harmony. Julie Anne is reading her book! Lady Gray is taking one of her frequent naps under the coffee table in front of Julie Anne. My strange ‘Musical Ear Syndrome’(MES to doctors) is playing soft music in my left ear, all is right with the world.

The ‘think period’!

Okay, I left my story yesterday with the lead suspect in jail and my ‘good guys’ off for cards and libations at the star-character’s country club.

So, I’m thinking: what’s the next action? You see, I’m a ‘pantser’ or a ‘plantser’ – I’m still deciding. I do fly by the seat of my Bermuda shorts or swim trunks, meaning I don’t plan a whole lot, or wear a whole lot! (You know, there are times when I just give away too damned much information!). I have a general idea of where I want to go, but I let the characters take me wherever that might be. The only real organizing I do is Character names, places, and a general idea of where I want the action and end-point to go. For this particular book the events are familiar to me, so I allow the ‘buzz’ to happen. So far, I’m really liking the pace of it all. Yes, I know! I can dupe myself on occasion!

So, I’ve interrupted my ‘think period’ by this post, and now I’m tired! See, I include you folks out there, invite you into my world, and so many of you don’t buy my books. Tell you what! I’ve got a short 99-cent compilation of some of my short writings, poems, and flash fiction. Like wine, it’s a taster, a sampler of my writing style. Try it out! KENTUCKY KERNELS – https://goo.gl/Nh9scv (US) and https://goo.gl/9gFLNQ (UK) … If you like it, buy one of my longer novels, like, MAMA’S MADNESS, a jarring and frightening story that ruined so many of my days in writing it – about a mother who tortures, kills two of her teen-age daughters. It’s inspired by a true crime event.

So, I’m going to rest maybe five, ten, minutes and get back to my 17th book!

Wishing you all a most enjoyable day!

BR Chitwood – September 17, 2018

Please preview my sixteen books at:

https://www.billyraychitwood.com

Please follow my blog at:

https://www.brchitwood.com

Please follow me on:

https://twitter.com/brchitwood

Timothy M. Tays, PhD

Psychotherapy & Books

BondingFyre

A Community of Seekers

Short Prose

short prose, fiction, poetry

lucinda E Clarke

My blog - My books - and other interesting stuff about my adventures

Reflections by Gwen M Plano

"To see a world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wild flower..." William Blake

Happiness Between Tails by da-AL

Arts + Cooking + Dancing + Joy + Writing + Tales + Tails

Jemsbooks

Writing - Loving What I Do and Doing What I Love!

Kristen Lamb

Author, Blogger, Social Media Jedi

Genealogy Quest

adding ancestors to your family tree

the incurable dreamer

my dreams are my disease, chasing them my only option

Art by Rob Goldstein

There is no common truth, but there are facts.

Book Jotter

Reviews, news, features and all things books for passionate readers

writing to freedom

words to inspire and empower

THE MYSTIQUE BOOKS

Celebrating Books

When Women Inspire

Female empowerment | Inspiring women to success

Dirty Sci-Fi Buddha

Musings and books from a grunty overthinker

Come and Go Literary

Fiction, Nonfiction, and Poetry Journal

The Showers of Blessings

Giving and Receiving Blessings

thoughts and entanglements

A collective of poems and photos.

Hugh's Views & News  

A man with dyslexia writing about this and that and everything else!

charles french words reading and writing

An exploration of writing and reading

Anna Dobritt -- Author

Where the imagination soars on glowing wings! May the words ever flow!

Annette Rochelle Aben

~ Communicator, WordSmith, Artist, Guide, Mentor, Muse ~

Cage Dunn: Writer, Author, Teller-of-tall-tales

Manic, obsessed, driven to story - all story. Read, write, think, do; dabble, plan, play, do. Do more - More - MORE!

Shannon A Thompson

You need the world, and the world needs good people.

The Bearded Scribbler

Writing In A World Of Randoms

irevuo

art. popular since 10,000 BC

BREVITY's Nonfiction Blog

(Somewhat) Daily News from the World of Literary Nonfiction

Bette A. Stevens, Maine Author

A writer inspired by nature and human nature

Fiction Favorites

with John W. Howell

Nesie's Place

Totally Unsupervised!

Sean P Carlin

Writer of things that go bump in the night

roughwighting

Life in a flash - a weekly writing blog

Jean's Writing

Jean M. Cogdell, Author-Writing something worth reading, one word at a time in easy to swallow bite size portions.

Nutsrok

The humor and humanity of storytelling.

Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge

Simple observations, analysis, and common sense comments

My one thousand lives blog

books, travel and veganism

Fiction in a Flash

Fiction in a Flash spins stories and poems, short in appearance but big in essence. Some are specks of imagination while others reflect life itself.

Anneli's Place

Books, reading, writing....

Story Empire

Exploring the World of Fiction

Kate Gale: A Mind Never Dormant

The life of a writer/editor

dVerse

Poets Pub

Capt Jills Journeys

She sails the seven seas in search of FREEDOM

Journey

A personal view of my observations.

#FILMose

Crítica para quem gosta de Cinema.

Penny Wilson Writes

A Bit of Me in Every Key Stroke

Notes Tied On The Sagebrush

Writing About Life

Grass never grows on a busy street

"Hindsight & perforated toilet paper are what set man apart from the apes" : rbn bookmark

%d bloggers like this: