Certain death?
Conspiracy that goes to the top?
Robbery gone wrong?
All in a day’s work…
The Theft
by Aaron Frale
Genre: Comedy Thriller
Certain
death? Conspiracy that goes to the top? Robbery gone wrong? All in a
day’s work…
The real tragedy is that I haven't had my morning coffee...
Those punks better watch their back. Nothing comes between me and my coffee.
**On Sale – Only .99cents 10/3 – 10/7!!**
Aaron Frale writes Science Fiction, Horror, and Fantasy usually with a comedic twist. Time Burrito is the audience favorite. He also hosts the podcast Aaron’s Horror Show and screams and plays guitar for the prog/metal band Spiral. He lives with his wife, his son, and two cats in the mountains of Montana.
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6:00 AM
Three irritable looking goons stood in the hall outside my front door. I was tempted to go ahead and fix my sorely needed cup of coffee, but they’d force their way inside without a second thought as to the property damage they would cause in the process. My last three apartments didn’t give me my security deposit back. A check in the mail would be really nice for a change, so I opened the door.
The stooge in the middle was big. He probably bench-pressed pro-wrestlers and chewed rawhide bones. He wore an equally large suit that could be used to keep a nest of orphans warm on a cold winter night (1). I’m going to call the giant hunk of man-meat Bruno. Names are my thing. Everything has got to have a name. My Chemex coffee maker is Chase. My stove, Maude, and my toaster, Smite.
The thug in the back was the quiet one with an icy stare. Gutter punk meets godfather, and most likely non-binary, which means I should use they/them instead of she/he because it would be a shame to die for silly reasons like pronoun usage. They probably favored battle moves like punch, kick or slice. Yeah, Slice. They will henceforth be known as Slice.
The one in front was a little guy with curly brown hair, thinned out at the top on its way to bald. He had the leather jacket, button-up shirt, and gold chain combo that screamed toxic masculinity. I think it’s safe to assume that the biggest insult one could devise for such a man was claiming they have girl parts where there are boy parts, so his name had to be Jenny.
“Ladies, gentlemen, and non-binaries,” I proclaimed, while darting my eyes in the appropriate direction as I said each word. “Can I interest you in a cup of joe? I have a subscription service to top-of-the-line coffee, and let me tell you, it’s worth every penny.”
The odd squad signaled their desire not to partake in my offer when Bruno grabbed me by the neck and dragged me through my apartment toward the balcony, where he flipped me over and dangled me from my twenty-fourth-floor apartment with his hands gripped around my ankles. It was their loss. You haven’t lived until you’ve explored the bliss of independent roasters from across the world provided for a low monthly rate.
“Ferrazzuolo thinks you’re holding out,” Jenny said, as he leaned over the railing.
“Have you ever seen such a sunrise?!” I exclaimed. It was particularly stunning this morning. The sun peeked over the Atlantic, and the red hues stretched out like a postcard. The windows of the city glistened from the raw beauty of nature—whitecaps on the water.
The moment was even more special because I was seldom awake for it. My apartment costs about a third more for an ocean view, and I rarely take advantage of it. I should drink my coffee on the porch more often. New resolution – I’m going to drink more coffee on the balcony and enjoy a sunrise every now and then.
“I don’t think you understand your predicament here,” Jenny said. I could tell I was already getting under his skin. I have a tendency to do that to people. It’s why I don’t have any roommates, which has its advantages. Imagine if I shared the place with Frank, a graduate student in history or women studies, and he strolled out of bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes while he went to brew a cup with Chase.
Which, of course, would be a source of endless irritation for me. Not because he would be drinking my fancy brew, since I’m what you'd call an excellent coffee evangelist. If I can leave the world a better place when I shuffle off this mortal coil, it would be to have everyone experience what I do daily with my roasted heaven. The reason Frank would end up pissing me off would be because he wouldn’t use the special brush made to scrub out the gold-plated filter I bought for Chase.
Sure, he’d rinse it off, but then there would be microscopic bits of stale grounds in the holes. If you don’t think it makes a difference, I will emphatically tell you that it most certainly does. Would you mix that wine sitting in your fridge that’s practically turned to vinegar with a fresh bottle? NO! Use the scrub brush, Frank! Use the scrub brush.
Oh, and I guess it’d also be pretty weird for him to see me dangled from our balcony by Bruno, a situation desperately in need of a solution. My legs were going numb from those cast-iron hands. “If Bruno would put me down, I can tell you about F’s delivery.” I know, F, not very creative, but what can you do with Ferrazzuolo? Z? Evokes zombies to me. Lo? Jay Lo, come on, too easy. Farrah? Like Farrah Fawcett? That would get confusing. F was a mob boss who employed more powerful women than any other mafia in the city. There is a very high chance that there are several Farrah’s under F’s employ.
“You really don’t get it, do you?” Jenny leaned in close to my face. “The time for talk is over. Ferrazzuolo wants you to hand it over.”
“I am fully aware of all twenty-four floors of my situation,” I said. “I also know that F won’t get anything if my brains are splattered on the pavement.”
“You bring up a fair point,” Jenny said, and nodded to Bruno, who lifted me back into the safety of the apartment. The beat stick held me down on my own IKEA chair while Jenny punched me in the kisser a few times. I could feel pins and needles in my legs, as they had fallen asleep during my brief cordless bungee jumping experience. Meanwhile, Slice just stood there with a blank expression between the front door and the goons bloodying my face. That non-binary really had a good death stare.
After my visage was a combination of Sylvester Stallone at the end of every Rocky movie and that kid from Cobra Kai, I couldn’t contain myself anymore and laughed.
“Okay, okay,” I could barely get out between guffaws. “I'll, haha! I'll do it. Hehe! Oh, my god."
"What is this guy's problem?" Jenny said to no one in particular, and wound up for another swing.
I was able to regain composure and decided to enlighten my sadist friends about my medical condition, which ultimately was the root of my career path, and the reason why people like the trio today had a tendency to ruin my mornings. "I suffer from a rare offshoot of algolagnia."
"What?"
"Sadomasochism. You know...whips, chains. Did you know that my Dominatrix bill is more than my rent? And I've got an Oceanside view!"
"Let's cut off his finger," Jenny said, and Slice ejected a blade from their sleeve. Slice was so freaking cool!
"It’s not a sexual thing,” I said, as Bruno pulled my hand out, and Slice drew blood from my pinky. “It’s just a miswiring in my brain. Pain, to me, is more like going to a funny movie. You know, the kind where you can’t stop laughing.”
Slice dug deeper. I couldn’t believe it was really happening – Slice was slicing!
“Did you ever see Austin Powers, Airplane, Monty Python, Mel Brooks? Haha. If I experience too much pain, hehe, it’s like going to see one of those movies. Haha! Drunk…hoho! And high…with your fratboy friends. Hahahahaha—”
The pinky came off. I lost it with laughter. Waves of intense joy spread from the bloody stub of my finger and coursed to my brain. My gut spasmed with bellowing surges of bliss, and it was so infectious that even Bruno cracked a smile. It was all the opening I needed. Hopefully, the circulation was returning to my feet.
Bruno’s momentary lapse on my grip was enough for me to slip my hand free and pull the gun he had holstered under his arm in his jacket. I held it up to his chin and fired, spraying brain matter on my Henri Matisse Woman with a Hat reproduction, which was a shame because there was a story behind that forgery. Not that I ever had visitors who weren’t trying to kill me.
Before Jenny could pull his gun halfway out, I shot him in the man parts, which I suppose with some reconstructive surgery could now officially be lady parts. I’d even given him a transgender name. You’re welcome, Jenny. Toxic masculinity is so pre-MeToo anyway. Your time is over, buddy. Accept it.
Oh, my god, that felt good. Slice had stuffed the blade used on my pinky into my gut, and it was hilarious. I jumped from my chair, ready for a fistfight that would probably end up breaking Chase yet somehow leaving Smite without a scratch, when my legs gave out. A fresh wave of pins and needles rushed through them as the pinched nerves in my legs were still recovering.
The more pressing problem was that Slice had retrieved their blade and stomped on my hand until I let go of the gun. They kicked the firearm to the side of the room and knelt on my back with the bloodied weapon tickling my neck. Even though it felt like a cutesy puppy sniffing my skin, I knew that too much pleasure for a person like me could literally kill me.
I’m happy that I don’t have a particularly hedonistic personality. Otherwise, I would have skewered myself for fun long before Slice came into the picture. There was an awkward moment of silence between us where the only thing that could be heard was Jenny, lamenting the loss of his defining characteristic.
Then, after that moment, Slice held a phone up to my ear.
“Where’s my delivery?!” a voice came over from the other end. You’d think it was the husky goombah voice of a man whose entire weight came from consuming an endless supply of cannolis. Wait…was I just fat-shaming? Or worse, Italian-shaming? Is it okay to caricature the physical appearance and ethnic identity of mob bosses who have produced more cement shoes than Nike has made sneakers? Do criminal mob bosses deserve the same decency as my theoretical roommate, Frank? I visualize Frank as being plus-sized and Italian and not afraid of bathing suits because it’s not the body one is given, but how one struts it that counts.
I still don’t forgive Frank for not scrubbing out the coffee filter. Whoa! My neck really tickles.
“F. How are you? You sound like you are looking good. Slice, was the boss still a knockout the last time you were there? Are you getting enough sleep? I know that sleep was never your thing. Burning the candle at both ends. Did you know that getting enough sleep is essential for better job performance? Bwahahaha! Sorry, didn’t mean to laugh. That was a knee digging into my back.”
“You better have my delivery. I’m giving you twenty-four hours,” F demanded. I think it’s imperative to mention here that F was not a man at all, but a woman and my ex-girlfriend. The point I was trying to make earlier before I was derailed by Frank strutting around the beach in a bathing suit, was that you’d expect F to be a man who had eaten his fair share of pasta, when in reality, F was a woman who goes on juice cleanses and yoga retreats.
Seriously, the next time you are at a yoga retreat in the Colorado Rockies that costs as much as an economy car, look around at the men and women around you. Sure, some will be Steven bankers and Suzy lawyers, Debbie debutantes with nothing better to do than spend their parents’ money, even a guy named Chuck from the pork rind processing plant who won the trip on The Price is Right (2).
But there will be that one – you don’t know what she does. She’s quiet, maybe even stoic, but there is something in her eyes like she can see into the very recesses of your soul and dredge out secrets you are hiding even from yourself.
But you dare not say anything because you just know that people who cross her end up in the ground or worse. So, you continue your Sun Salutation, and every time you say “Namaste”, you are begging your deity that you never end up on the wrong side of her because you're sure she has swallowed more people whole than Cthulhu.
Oh, and with impeccable taste in clothes. You really want to ask her where she got her yoga pants, but you’re kinda scared to do it.
That’s F. When F tells you that you better have her delivery in twenty-four hours, she really means it.
“How about I give you a full refund on my services? In fact, I’ll pay you triple what you paid me, and I’ll even pay Bruno’s life insurance benefit. He did have life insurance, right? It’s ludicrous not to in this profession,” I offered feebly.
“I don’t want your money. I want what I paid you to get.” She predictably didn’t budge, which was the reason we broke up. We were always doing what she wanted to do: a charity event at City Hall, ribbon-cutting ceremonies at a new school, and boiling a Red Lobster cook named Tony alive when the sacks from his restaurant contained flour and not pure, uncut heroin. But would she even consider dressing up like Scarlet Johansson to my Paul Rudd while we went to the midnight release of Avengers: Endgame? No, she was too tired. We can see it on the weekend. I’ve witnessed her torture people for longer than that movie’s run time.
“There’s a slight problem with that,” I said. “I was robbed. I know, ironic. You can laugh it up. A thief, getting robbed. Only in a story.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“You will be when you hear the tale.”
“I don’t want to hear it. I want my delivery. You have twenty-four hours.”
“What’s that? You’re breaking up! The service in my apartment is terrible. I heard three weeks.”
“Twenty-four hours.” The line went dead.
The pressure on my neck loosened, and while I was sitting up, I said to Slice, “Hey, I don’t suppose you know anyone who could forge a passport? I’d ask F, but you know how that’d go. The knucklehead would think I’m trying to skip town or something. Really, it’s just that I got a trip to South America planned in a few weeks, and the passport office takes forever. Doesn’t Homeland Security know that the flights are nonrefundable?”
That last part was true. I was planning to take a little break from my career and go on a coffee tour of South America. It was the best idea I ever had, short of the time I bilked that auction house that defrauded their customers with forged paintings. Man, I am going to miss Woman with a Hat. She’s one of the few things in life I haven’t named. I mean, if Matisse couldn’t name her, who am I to provide her with one?
Slice didn’t even acknowledge me. They took their blade and thrust it into Jenny’s temple, and the whimpering was replaced with silence. That was hardcore. Slice has now been upgraded to Thrust. I also noticed that Thrust had an ornate gold box-shaped locket that had come out of their shirt when they had bent over to end Jenny’s death serenade.
“Nice locket,” I said.
The non-binary godfather gutter punk hitman stuffed the trinket back into their shirt and left my apartment without so much as a glance in my direction. I salute you, Thrust, for being so scary you don’t need any words. The ones you've got to be worried about are the ones who don’t say a thing. That’s why I always come off as non-threatening. I talk a lot. I mean, a lot. A lot.
There was the time the Bite Squad driver was stuck at my door.
“Do you get to keep that delivery fee? Or at least some of it? I mean, what if some jerk stiffs you for the tip? Did you just drive all the way to someone’s house for no money? Does that little icon on the map really show you where you are? Do people ever give you driving advice? Like, explain a better way to get to their house? I’m mean, you're probably only going to see them once in your life, so who cares what route you took? I figure you are only following the directions provided to you by the app.”
Or that time I had failed to pick up a girl at a hotel bar.
“You know, I’m thinking about writing a book. My life is really like a book. There was this one time I was at this auction house….”
Or, finally, when I had spoken with my next door neighbor, Abuela Martinez.
“Yes, ma'am, I’d love some fresh tortillas. I can smell them when I’m coming down the hall.”
“Oh, mijo,” she had said. “You can have some anytime. You don’t need to help my grandson take a couch up twenty-four flights of stairs to get a fresh meal. Don’t you think I don’t notice all those Bite Squad drivers coming to your door? You need some real food. You know, I taught my granddaughter everything she knows about cooking. She’s a lawyer, too busy for men. You are always so busy with all that consultant work, but you have to carve out time for family. You are not getting any younger, and trust me, I’ve had seven children. It’s much easier when you are younger.”
Okay, so maybe some people can outtalk me. Still, the point is that I am so good with words that I really should have been in Abuela Martinez’s granddaughter’s cohort at law school, but then there is that whole feeling-pain-as-if-it-were-pleasure thing. It made me ideal for an occupation where people like F are pretty good bosses when they aren’t trying to kill you.
She pays well above the going rate to everyone in her employ. Her loyalty rewards are better than what the Pope would get at the Vatican gift shop. She respects and values her underlings' opinions, and enacts swift, brutal revenge on anyone who double-crosses her. She was also the most effortless breakup that I’ve ever had.
I literally had told her that I thought we needed to go our separate ways because I view relationships more like a partnership. I was giving way more than I was receiving. Her response was, “Okay, if that’s how you feel, I’ll have my associate deliver your toothbrush in the morning.”
To which I had responded, “I don’t really need the toothbrush. I buy them at Costco. There are plenty in the package. But I am willing to talk about the break up if you need any more clarity.”
“Nope. Seems like you made your point perfectly. Now about that auction house job….”
Literally, every boss I’ve ever had before her was that Italian pasta-guzzling stereotype. I’ve worked for the Russo, Regio, Romano, Rizzo, Rossi, Reviello, Ricciolino, Rossetti, Rossetto, Rua and Rusiello crime families, and that’s just the letter R. Please don’t make me do the letter M. The point is that I have talents. I’m the guy that certain people know has those talents, so I collect a steady paycheck. Sure, every so often, I’m going to have to forfeit my deposit, buy bulk items at Costco, get a new apartment, change my name, or lose a pinky, but overall, I like my life. I work my own hours. Get highly paid contract work. I have more money stashed away in different bank accounts than a college campus of squirrels burying discarded burritos for the winter.
Who cares about the pinky anyway? It’s the most overrated appendage. It’s not like I’m going to have tea with the Queen any time soon. Speaking of which, I should probably put that thing on ice. I knew that Playmate cooler (3) was going to be good for something beyond when I had to disguise myself as a tailgater so I could steal back the Reviello family’s prized Super Bowl championship ring.
24 hours advanced notice of being murdered is more than most people got, glass half full?
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Can you believe that’s still on the air?
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I named the cooler Wyoming because I figured one day it would be full of beers in the back of a pickup truck in a dry riverbed.
What are your top 10 favorite books/authors?
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy Series by Douglas Adams, The Wheel of Time Series by Robert Jordan, Lord of the Rings by JRR Tolkien, The Hidden Reality by Brian Greene, Nothing to Envy by Barbara Demick, Wool by Hugh Howey, The Girl with All the Gifts by M.R. Carey, Bobiverse books by Dennis E. Taylor, Year Zero by Robert Ried, It by Stephen King
What book do you think everyone should read?
That’s a really tough question. I don’t know if there is one book that could do the most good with the least amount of harm. There are plenty of books that have good intentions but cause a lot of harm and that usually happens when people try to use one book to make every decision in their life. Books are like tools; they all serve a specific purpose for a situation. For example, why would I use a saw to pound a nail? So why would I used the bible to decide scientific questions and use a science manual to decide my morality?
So no, there is not one book everyone should read. However, there are many books for different situations, and we should pick the best one for that situation, but also understand there are situations where the book isn’t going to be any help.
How long have you been writing?
Since I was in elementary school. I read The War of Worlds when most kids my age were still into picture books. I quickly also wanted to write. Then I went to college and learned writing for the theatre and did a lot of shows. However, when people started going their separate ways, I needed an outlet for my writing, that’s when I switched to novels and here I am.
Do the characters all come to you at the same time or do some of them come to you as you write?
Everything comes when I write. When I start writing, I have an idea of where the story is going, but I make up everything as I go. That means when I rewrite, it’s the first part of the book that needs the most rewrites because of direction changes in the process of writing.
What kind of research do you do before you begin writing a book?
It depends on the book. I once wrote about a future where the only things from our world that survived were about people named Dave or David. There were holy wars over if the creator was named David or Dave. In order to pull it off, I had to research just about every famous David ever. Then had to use that to build the world where David Duchovny is a legend, and the X-files is considered holy parables. It was a weird and fun book.
Do you see writing as a career?
I hope so, I have too many ideas and not enough time to write them all. If writing could be my career, I would be able to get more of them out.
What do you think about the current publishing market?
It’s difficult. There are a lot of books out there. Most writers sell only a handful of copies. Very few are able to sustain themselves with their writing. With the billions of people on the planet, my guess is that every writer alive has 25k people that would love what they do and buy every book they write. At 2 dollars royalty per book, a person could live a decent middle-class lifestyle by writing one book a year. The challenge is finding those 25k people.
Do you read yourself and if so what is your favorite genre?
My favorite genre is science fiction. I really love how people imagine the future. I always think about the future myself too. I think sci fi allows us to test out a future without having to experience it. AI destroying all humans may be interesting to read, but in reality, it would suck if it really happened. I feel science fiction helps humans experience things without them happening in reality. Hopefully, that will help certain futures from never coming true.
Do you prefer to write in silence or with noise? Why?
Silence. I tried writing to music during the pandemic and then realized that I was listening to the music. Though it was via that experiment was where I found Streat Cleaner which was what inspired The Theft. I basically pulled up bandcamp and found an artist that was described as an eighties movie soundtrack, and I was hooked.
Do you write one book at a time or do you have several going at a time?
Usually several going at once. If I get stuck on one, I’ll move to another one. Then by the time I get back to the one where I’m stuck, I’ll have figured out how to proceed.
If you could have been the author of any book ever written, which book would you choose?
My books would be the ones I choose. The only reason to pick another book would be to have enough money to write books for a living. But I’d much rather write for a living with my own words than someone else’s.
Pen or type writer or computer?
Computer hands down. My handwriting is really bad. I mean doctor bad. I probably should have gone to medical school with my handwriting. And typewriter would make it too hard to edit.
Tell us about a favorite character from a book.
In Year Zero, the aliens were amazing. In the story, species were judged on their artistic contribution to the universe, and humans created much better music than anyone else in the universe. All our other Earth art forms were considered childish, but the aliens lost their mind over Earth music. And because of an intergalactic law that says the laws of the origin planet apply to the rest of the universe when it comes to the art of a planet, the rest of the universe owed the Earth more money than the collective wealth of the universe in music piracy fines. The aliens in the story hire a lawyer.
What made you want to become an author and do you feel it was the right decision?
I’ve always wanted to be one. My brain just thinks of story ideas, but not just any ideas, ridiculous ones. It’s how I’m wired. Monty Python gave me a near religious experience as a kid with how funny it was.
A day in the life of the author?
I work a full-time job and am lucky if I get writing in. But when I do write, it’s at a computer. Boring, I know but that’s what I do. Just sit down and start writing.
Advice they would give new authors?
Learn craft first. A poorly crafted story is hard to sell no matter how much marketing you do. Then learn how to market. These days, you have to be good at marketing, cover art, editing, and crafting a story to make it. If you have the funds, good cover art is cheap. There are even people you can pay to market your book, but they are expensive to get ones that will add a lot of value. Editors are a must. You may be good at grammar, but I guarantee that no matter how much you edit, there will always be that one cranky reviewer who pans your book for that one mistake you made. Luckily, copyediting is cheap. So, pay for an editor and cover art. Then learn out to market, but remember, craft first.
Describe your writing style.
Comedy And. I combine various genres with comedy. To date I’ve written Time Travel novels, horror books, Science Fiction, Fantasy, Thriller, Sci Fi Mystery, Dystopian, Zombie, and various other genres. Most of them are humorous.
What makes a good story?
Whether or not you enjoy it. A good story depends on the person reading it. A story that I find amazing may be boring to another person. A boring story to me may be the best thing that the other person ever read. Taste defines where something is good.
Craft on the other hand can be identified even if you don’t like the story. For example, are the characters consistent in their beliefs? Is the plot natural or contrived? Does the dialogue sound like people speak? Craft is something that can be really well done, and you still might not call it a “good story.”
What are they currently reading?
I’m currently reading The Expanse series. It’s quite good, and it was a reaction to the TV show being canceled. A lot of the Belter, Earth, Mars, political intrigue was my least favorite part of the story and that all got resolved in the show. Whereas the ring and the ancient alien monuments were my favorite part, and it never got resolved. Also, what was up with that little girl who revived her brother? Too much interesting stuff was happening for me to stop, so now I want to read the rest of the series to find out.
What is your writing process? For instance do you do an outline first? Do you do the chapters first?
I don’t outline. I mainly think of the idea and start writing. It usually makes me have to rewrite the first part of most books a lot because I change directions, but I enjoy getting to experience the story as the reader does where they don’t know what is going to happen next. I only get to do that in my first draft.
What are common traps for aspiring writers?
Bad cover art and poor editing. There is a lot of work that goes into writing a book no matter how well crafted it is. It’s a shame that two easily fixable things will roadblock writers from getting value for their work. And trust me, I’ve had both bad cover art and poor editing in my books. It didn’t help.
What is your writing Kryptonite?
Being tired. You lose your sense of humor when you’re tired and you can’t write comedy without one.
Do you try more to be original or to deliver to readers what they want?
Hands down original. I do not write books using a formula. In fact, I enjoy poking fun at the formula and the tropes. So, while my book may be packaged in a genre, they are definitely not going to be same from book to book.
If you could tell your younger writing self anything, what would it be?
Don’t give up that comedy mailing list. In the early days of the internet, I ran a comedy mailing list. People would forward me funny emails, and I would forward them to the list if I thought they were funny. It was pretty popular, enough that a college professor singled me out in a 200-student class, and said “are you the Aaron Frale of DragonTear’s Email List? I love your emails.”
Anyway, the list was a massive, a lot of work, and I didn’t make any money off it. However, if I kept it running and had started writing books, I would have probably been able to sustain myself off that list alone. Instead, I was young, didn’t want to do it anymore, and just sent an email saying that it’s shutting down. Even though I’m running a similar list (you can sign up at aaronfrale.com) where I send humorous emails, it’s nowhere near the same size as my old list. It was early in the internet too when people didn’t do that sort of thing. That’s my fish that got away.
What’s the most difficult thing about writing characters from the opposite sex?
Love scenes. Romance isn’t really my thing. But I know it’s lots of people’s thing and they like to see it in their genre fiction (sci fi and fantasy too). So, I do have to have characters hook up, but I don’t really like writing it. It’s just not as interesting to me as say, an action sequence.
How long on average does it take you to write a book?
A couple years to a couple months, it depends on the book. My fantasy series took years to write. This one took like a month or two. It just all fell into place.
Do you believe in writer’s block?
Not really. I just switch to another story when I get stuck. Usually, I’m unstuck by the time I get back to it. Writer’s block to me is just needing more time to properly tell the tale.
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I enjoyed the excerpt and guest post. Sounds like a really good book.
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