Teaser 2 for Begotten Son

“Maybe this was used like dorm rooms for awhile. Maybe they lived here until they built something nicer,” Jim suggested as he pulled open another door with a screech of rusted iron and shone the flashlight in. A glob of spiderwebs and rust sprinkled down onto Jim's black hair and Meshach reached out and brushed it away before Jim lost it. Both looking in, they found what they had found in nearly all of them: a cot and dust.
“All quite true,” a scratchy voice suddenly responded from behind them.

Whirling around, Meshach’s breath hitched and a chill ran down his spine as he stared at the one illuminated in Jim’s flashlight beam.

“Shit,” Jim cursed unabashedly beside him.

The Hand of Death looked directly at Meshach, his blue eyes meeting his and though every primitive instinct in his body told him to look away, Meshach forced himself to not flinch.

They had heard all the stories about the Hand of Death for years, myths and urban legends for the most part. And honestly, Meshach had assumed them nothing but the exaggerated stories of drunken soldiers told around campfires. It was said that he was the immortal messenger of Death (or even an avatar of Death itself) that was given to King Malcom as a gift by Death. Apparently, to the superstitious inhabitants of the West, this made sense, seeing as they believed King Malcom was a god in his own right. The Hand of Death was thus the most feared assassin in the West, and reports of his gruesome deeds made their way even to the East. They said he had the ability to kill with just the touch of his right hand and that his eyes could see to your very soul. You could not lie to him and his very voice made the strongest soldiers wet themselves.

So, Meshach had been quite shocked to find that the Hand of Death was real and had been present often in the Throne Room during their meetings and conferences with King Malcom and the other delegates. After all the stories, Meshach had been quite surprised at his actual appearance. Meshach had been shocked to find him of only average height with a lean swimmer’s build and not possibly even 30 years old. He had expected him to be seven feet tall and covered in blood with nothing but gaping black holes where his eyes should have been from the way he was spoken of. But none-the-less, deadliness cloaked him and grown Eastern men and women who did not believe in gods or a personified Death fell silent and stepped away from his presence. Few met his eyes.

“Well, Lord Meshach, just the man I was looking for. And here you are, where you are not supposed to be,” the Hand of Death mused, continuing to look them both up and down. When he spoke, his voice was intriguing, a strange scratch to it. With a wave of his hand, the darkness pulled away. Suddenly light flared from one of the bare light bulbs hanging above them and Jim was able to drop the flashlight to his side.
In the light, a young boy was revealed standing next to William. He was an amazing contrast to the assassin, the assassin’s pale skin, blue eyes, and blond hair against the boy’s olive skin, brown eyes, and brown hair past his shoulders. He looked almost wild.

“We didn’t mean anything. We were just curious…” Jim tried to explain and Meshach would have laughed if it wasn’t for the fact that their very lives might just hang in the balance. They had just been caught snooping by the Hand of Death around the very Society grounds that they had been forbidden from trespassing upon. This man might very well kill them here and now. In any other circumstances, he would hold the belief that no man would kill in cold blood in front of a child. However, for all he knew, this boy was some sort of assassin apprentice.

The Hand of Death smirked. “They say curiosity can get one killed,” the assassin murmured and then looked down at the boy. “I will escort these two back to their rooms. You had better run on back. I believe you have a lesson with Kissy you’re about to be late for.”

The boy’s forehead furrowed and he stomped his foot, his jaw tight. He mumbled something in Northern.

“I think I can handle two Easterners, go on,” the Hand of Death replied, looking actually amused for just a moment. The boy shot a glare at Meshach and Jamison and then he took off at a dead run. The assassin turned back to them and tilted his head in an unheard of show of respect as far as Meshach knew. “If you would come with me?”

Meshach and Jim followed the Hand of Death deeper into the shadows of the hallways. He thought he and Jim would get whiplash, for as they walked, they couldn’t help but twist their heads back and forth to watch the play of light and shadow.

“You’re seeing this, right?” Jim hissed.

Meshach nodded as he looked over his shoulder once again. Even as he watched, shadows crept forward, throwing the hallway behind them into darkness till he could no longer see any of the doors though it had been lit just moments before.

“I keep telling myself it’s just sensors but….but sensors don’t act like this,” Jim hissed again. Meshach looked over at him and could see the goose bumps on his friend’s neck. Meshach understood what Jim was trying to say. It wasn’t that the light seemed to come and go; it was the way the shadows appeared to move.

Shaking it off, Meshach forced himself to focus on where they were going and the assassin ahead of them, who thought them so little of a threat he had his back to them. They came to a wider hallway and the Hand of Death stopped abruptly and turned to them.

“I have a proposal for you, Lord Meshach.”

Meshach swallowed again but this time the danger was not immediate, but rather the apprehension of what this man could possibly want to propose to him.

“I am listening….” Meshach trailed off, not sure what the proper way of addressing him was. He knew it was important, so much emphasis being put on names and how they were used and by whom in the Western Society. “Hand of Death.”

The man managed a small curve of his lips as if he were attempting a smile but didn't have enough practice. “It is customary to shorten it to just Hand. But you may call me William.”

The Son Series Playlist Alex Hoffer (playlist)

I've created a YouTube playlist of the songs that I listen to while I'm working on the different books in the Son Series, notably, Begotten Son, and the upcoming Prodigal Son. Not only is music a critical component for me in my writing process, but since music is so important to several characters in the stories, I've spent a lot of time trying to pin down their sound as well. I have a tendency to attach a specific song to a specific scene, and as I'm working on that scene, I'll just keep playing that song over and over and over again till I've moved on to the next scene and can move on to other songs.  I'll often place a comment in my word doc reminding me which song to listen to when I come back to it later.  So maybe I'm over-sharing, but just in case anyone is interested, I thought I would put the music out there.  I've done my best to use the official videos and only used other versions when necessary so that there hopefully won't be any pulled or missing. There are a few on the list below that are not in the YouTube playlist since I couldn't find a good version there. If you just want a list, here they are:

Awake My Soul--Mumford & Sons

Roll Away Your Stone--Mumford & Sons

I Will Wait--Mumford & Sons

Little Lion Man--Mumford & Sons

The Cave--Mumford & Sons

Babel--Mumford & Sons

White Blank Page--Mumford & Sons

Winter Winds--Mumford & Sons

Volcano--Damien Rice

Delicate--Damien Rice

Cannonball--Damien Rice

Coconut Skins--Damien Rice

9 Crimes--Damien Rice

Grey Room--Damien Rice

Rootless Tree--Damien Rice

Eskimo--Damien Rice

Hallelujah--Jeff Buckley

Hoquiam--Damien Jurado

Ho Hey--The Lumineers

Let Her Go--Passenger

Home--Phillip Phillips

Gone, Gone, Gone--Phillip Phillips

Little Talks--Of Monsters and Men

Dirty Paws--Of Monsters and Men

King and Lionheart--Of Monsters and Men

Everything--Stereo Fuse

The Stable Song--Gregory Alan Isakov

Comes and Goes--Greg Laswell

Gravedigger--Dave Matthews

Breathing--Lifehouse

Hey There Delilah--Plain White T's

Lightning Crashes--Live

Good Riddance--Green Day

21 Guns--Green Day

Iris--Goo Goo Dolls

Name--Goo Goo Dolls

Hannah--Ray LaMontagne

Window--Guster

Moving Along

Well, it's been about two weeks since I first started on this journey.  I've published Begotten Son to a Kindle e-book, a paperback through CreateSpace, and as we speak I'm publishing it as an e-book with Barnes and Noble Nook (it should hopefully show up by tomorrow).  I've created an author profile on Goodreads and I've created this blog, and a page on Google+.  I've made a few sales but I think they're all family so far (except maybe one...) so I'm trying to keep optimistic and do everything I can to advertise.  I know it will take time, I'm competing against so many other books out there and I have to build up name recognition.  I am pretty pleased with the appearance of the paperback, so that was a nice ego-boost.

I'm also currently working on the sequel Prodigal Son and that will be a nice accomplishment if I can get that one wrapped up and out there into the world too.  I think it might necessary as well. Otherwise my readers shall not forgive me for how it is left at the ending of the first book!

Teaser 1 for Begotten Son

Here is an early excerpt from Begotten Son.  Later I will post excerpts from later in the book.  Hope you enjoy!


William stood in the bedroom as the morning dawn crept in the open window, unconsciously clenching and unclenching his fist, working out the incredible tension that was racing through his veins. The reflex alternately hid and revealed the deep-black tattoo on the palm of his right hand, all the more black for the paleness of his skin. Two overlapping glyphs, it roughly translated to “The One with the Power of Life and Death.” No one else alive bore it, and yet, it was recognized by all Society members young and old.

A weak breeze caressed his short blond hair and white shirt and ruffled the thin white curtains. The scars and tattoos that showed with his short-sleeves gave a silent testimony to his life. The back of his right hand had a symbol in the same style but different than the one on the palm of his right hand. Around his left wrist was a bracelet-like tattoo and crawling up the softer skin of his left arm was a hideous scar, straight and obviously deep, the scar tissue raised high and whiter than the rest of his skin. Smaller nicks and scars speckled his arms and hands.

He was not bulky, rather lean muscle with not a drop of fat, like a predatory cat. His height was undecided as he made it be. He seemed tall, but it was merely his presence. It was the way he moved, his stance, the way he held his head. Out the windows and through the ancient trees, he watched the colors changing as the minutes passed, fiery red becoming vibrant orange then beaming yellow. Night’s purple passing and cooling to blue.

Another breeze came and, though it was warm, he stepped up to the bed and pulled the hand-quilted blankets up tighter around the man who lay there asleep. His brother was much like him, so much so that people had thought they were twins as children. And though the illness had taken a toll on him, Kade was still handsome and strong in appearance. Physically, however, pain was his companion and for a week now he had been unable to do more than raise his head from the pillow.

Breathing through his nose slowly, breathing away any rising emotions, he returned to watching the colors cascade across the sky and turn the glass window panes to sheets of warm gold. He did not turn away from it until he sensed his brother rising from sleep, his eyes opening slowly. William was no poet or artist like his brother, still even he could not deny the amazing hue those eyes held. Kade’s blue eyes were a shade found only in the vibrancy of the sunrise palette. Yet those eyes were dead now, Kade having been blinded as a child so that his pupils were but tiny dots leaving his eyes all blue iris, only enhancing their memorizing effect.
His brother opened his mouth as if to speak then closed it again. Nothing really needed to be said. They both were quite aware he was but days, perhaps a week, from death.

"I’m sorry, brother,” Kade managed after a moment, his voice as enchanting as his eyes.

William shook his head in denial at Kade’s words. Returning to him, he sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Don’t.” It was not Kade who should be apologizing, but he. He had failed Kade. He hadn’t found a way to save him. It was not fair, but life had never been fair to them. William kept living though he often should have died, and here Kade had been dying slowly for years.  Taking his brother’s hand into his own, he squeezed it tightly, unable to speak any words of comfort as he should have. He took a calming breath.

"I think I found the right one,” he managed. “He is a Lord, his territory the closest actually. I will approach him today.”

Their father, King Malcom, had convened an assembly in the Western Society, the first time outsiders had been invited inside their boarders in decades. Delegates from the Eastern States and Southern Alliances were in attendance. Those from the North had declined, showing that while they were not as aggressive as the West, they were even more secretive. In truth, Malcom was really only interested in the East as they were the only ones able to challenge him; the only country able to withstand Malcom's army, the only ones with any kind of advanced technology and, by far, the largest population.

To William, however, their presence meant something entirely different. With over two hundred Lords and Ladies from the East in attendance, representing each of their territories or states, William had been able to observe them over the last several days, finding those unprejudiced, intelligent, and showing signs of kindness and trustworthiness. He needed one he could approach, one who would be willing to open his Keep to an ill Westerner. One who would be willing to barter and then keep his silence. He had finally found the best candidate with those traits, who was miraculously the one whose territory was just over the mountain range that formed a natural border between East and West.

The room darkened as clouds began to move in and covered the new born sun. The tree limbs and curtains shivered with a much colder wind. If a candle had been lit, it would have been snuffed out. Kade could not see the shadows that were creeping into the room called by the emotions his brother felt (but was trying valiantly to suppress), still he could feel them.

Kade squeezed back. “Don’t worry, brother. I won’t leave you yet.”

William nodded as two lone tears fell down his cheeks. He had not cried in years, but he did not wipe them away, so that they fell and dropped onto their clasped hands. One hand clutched Kade’s and the other clutched the edge of the wooden bed frame, a desperate hold on reality.

Currently Reading...

I am currently reading two nonfiction books.  The first is The Heart of the Buddha's Teaching by Thich Nhat Hanh and it is simply one of those amazing and rare books that forces you to rethink how you live, how you act, and how you think.  I will admit with shame that I have never actually finished the book.  Instead, I continually pick it up and start at the beginning but never quite make it all the way through, rather I make it a little farther every time.  And perhaps that is simply how it is.  Like with life, one simply can only strive to do better every time.

Two of my favorite passages regard the "Right View."  The first passage is thus:
"Peceptions always have a "mark," and in many cases that mark is illusory.  The Buddha advised us not to be fooled by what we perceive.  He told Subhuti, "Where there is perception, there is deception." The Buddha also taught on many occasions that most of our perceptions are erroneous, and that most of our suffering comes from wrong perceptions.  We have to ask ourselves again and again, "Am I sure?" Until we see clearly, our wrong perceptions will prevent us from having Right View."

Then later down the page:
"The source of our perception, our way of seeing, lies in our store consciousness. If ten people look at a cloud, there will be ten different perceptions of it.  Whether it is perceived as a dog, a hammer, or a coat depends on our mind--our sadness, our memories, our anger. Our perceptions carry with them all the errors of subjectivity."

The second book I am also slowly reading through is the 1955 copy of A Guide to the Religions of America, edited by Leo Rosten. The fact that the publication is old and thus reflects the thoughts and beliefs of the time has only made it that much more interesting.

And so it begins...

Well, it has finally happened.  After writing for my own pleasure (and and at my own speed), about six months ago or so, I finally decided I needed to publish.  I had turned 30 years old and and the dream of publishing a book had not yet happened.  It wasn't because I was being rejected, I had just never forced myself to finally finish up a book.  I just kept rewriting them again and again, never satisfied.  But I needed to do it.  I needed to wrap up a book for once and move on to others.  But I wasn't willing to play the publisher-company-game. I didn't want to send in manuscript after manuscript, only to have it rejected again and again.  So when I found self-publishing, I realized this was my opportunity.  This was a goal I could accomplish on my own terms, in my own way.  And so the day is finally here.  I now have my book (Begotten Son) available as a Kindle ebook and a paper copy available through Createspace.

Begotten Son is only the first book in what will be at the very least a trilogy, possibly more.  I hope that readers will not only take this first ride with William Donovan Dedrick and his faithful companions, but those that are still to come.  I know that the ride is rather dark and uncomfortable, but I have always believed that it is in those moments of darkness that we see the strength, resilience, beauty, and truth of people. I hope readers can see how beauty can still emerge from the dark.