Saturday, April 21, 2012
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
An interesting video interview with renowned speaker and attorney Gregory Piche' about his new book Sham Peer Review. A must read for all my physician and lawyer friends. http://ping.fm/7lQTu
Sunday, April 1, 2012
How is this for my MIDNIGHT IN PURGATORY logline? A beautiful 38-year old widow and her prodigious 12-year old twins are invited to the small town of Purgatory to start a new life. Or so they think. What really happened here 18 years ago? What is about to happen again at the old cemetery on All Hallows Eve? Why are the locals playing with God? Does the ancient order known as ECHO really exist? Trust no one! Never accept a double-dare! And never, never ever open the ancient door that leads to heaven ... or is it hell? http://ping.fm/4DFpj
Monday, March 12, 2012
Did a fun interview with Frank Fiore/The Back Story Radio Show about The Glass Fence.
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Saturday, March 10, 2012
Friday, March 9, 2012
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Monday, February 20, 2012
My adventure novel CHASING GOD'S RIVER is now on Amazon Kindle. Prime members can read it for free! http://ping.fm/Jf8q6
My Young Adult novel The Five Pearls shot up to 60 this week at Amazon Kindle. Peer presure! http://ping.fm/22btS
A breath of fresh air! My new novel THE GLASS FENCE is 59 in Contemporary Fiction on Amazon Kindle! http://ping.fm/TabR6
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
All of my books are now available through KDP Select. Over 2500 downloads of The Five Pearls in a week! Read them for free. If you like a novel, buy it for your digital library. Gracias!
http://ping.fm/UhmG2
http://ping.fm/UhmG2
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Saturday, January 14, 2012
My book signing for The Glass Fence and Chasing God's River is today from 5-7pm at Poor Richard's Bookstore. 320 N. Tejon, Colorado Springs, CO. 80903. I think I'll read a chapter... At 7pm I will be across the street watching with the world as Tebow and the Broncos UPSET the Patriots! No bets, just a gut instinct.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Author Barry James Hickey competes with Tim Tebow and the Broncos on Saturday, January 14th.
http://ping.fm/uc8gU
http://ping.fm/uc8gU
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Thursday, December 29, 2011
I learned a lot about writing from acting. Here's some of my India movie adventure: http://ping.fm/zuzl9
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Monday, December 12, 2011
Thursday, December 8, 2011
A writer's life - This showed up in my mind at 4 in the morning:
The Witch with 500 Hats - Prologue
The half-drunk man untied the scull and pushed it away from the shore. It was just before midnight - the start of a new witching hour. As steaming fog frothed along the calm riverbank, the man rowed. The lanky boy in the bow cradled his arms to bring warmth to his shivering body, listening to the hurried slap of wooden oars against water. The man was running late and that made him tense.
“Won't be long now, boy. Just a few hundred yards out there - in the river.”
“What if he don't like me?”
“Shaddup, boy! He better like you or you'll get yourself another whipping! Are we clear?”
“Yessir. Perfectly.”
“And no smart-ass talk!”
“Yessir.”
There was no traffic on the wide river now. Captains of bigger ships didn't want to risk navigating between the drifting sandbars without moon or daylight or tugs at the high end of the mighty Mississippi. The scull made good time out to the thin tree-lined island standing midstream and approached the old paddle steamer tied off on the shoreline. The scull drifted past the stern’s stilled paddlewheel along the port side to a hanging ladder. The man tossed a rope to the boy and looked nervously about.
“Tie us up, Buddy, and be quick about it. He’s an important man. We don't want to rile him.”
“We are just a little late,” said the boy as he tied the small craft to a gunwale.
The man reached over and grabbed the boy by the scruff of his neck. “Don't be the fool like your father,” the man whispered desperately. “This is an opportunity for the both of us! Do you hear me?” He studied the decks for signs of life and returned his gaze to the boy. “I told him you were smart. Don't say too much. Don't smile. And try not to wiggle.”
“But you still haven't told me why I am here,” the boy reasoned.
“He’ll tell you,” said the boy's father. “This is just your introduction. He has to like you first.”
“Introduction to what?”
“The ways of men, the path to a new life.”
A man in shadows bellowed from above with a deep baritone voice. “Who's down there?”
The father released his grip and called back. “It's Bill Dempsey. I brought out my son as promised.”
The beam from a flashlight raced across father and son.
“You're late,” said the voice. “Bring him up, then. Let's have a look.”
Dempsey lifted his boy to the ladder and handed him up towards the man. Buddy was yanked on deck.
“You can stay behind in the boat,” said the man. “I’ll take it from here.”
“Yes, of course. I knew that. Thank you,” said Bill Dempsey.
“Let me see your hands,” he heard the man say. “Good. Long, strong fingers as promised… Follow me.”
Bill Dempsey sat back down in the scull. After the fall of retreating footsteps faded away, he reached inside his coat pocket for the bottle of rye whiskey. Dempsey smiled and drank to his future.
“The kid’ll be alright,” he convinced himself. “Just has to play dumb, is all.”
As he lay back in the scull, he noticed an opened portal window above the waterline. He pulled the small craft within hearing distance. The man was leading the boy down a set of stairs to the boat’s small dining hall.
The man’s voice continued. “Have you ever seen a violin boy?”
“Not up close, sir,” Buddy replied.
“Think you can learn to play it?”
“I can do pretty much anything if I put my mind to it.”
“Just one caprice. That’s all I ask.”
“I’m sorry, sir?”
“A musical piece written and played by a man named Pavorini a long time ago.”
“Pavo?”
“Pavorini. He was the greatest violinist who ever lived. This is one of his original bows. But there was a price to pay for his gift.”
“Sir?”
The man smiled, speaking softly. “He sold his soul to the devil.”
"Just to play music?"
"In time, you'll understand."
“Why do you want me to learn this caprice?”
“In due time, all will be revealed.”
“My father said there is money involved.”
“There is - some now, more as we go and plenty more when we’re finished. All that you learn must be in the strictest confidence. Am I understood?”
“Yessir.”
“After all, Buddy, we wouldn’t something bad to happen to your family, now would we?”
“No sir.”
There was a light clatter as the violin was pulled from its case. “Hand me the bow, young man,”
Bill Dempsey took another drink in the scull and listened as the violin was played. It was the music of a haunted virtuoso played with unrivaled technical artistry. But there was something in the emotional notes that made Dempsey’s hair stand up and his blood curdle. “What have I done?” he pondered.
The music stopped.
Young Buddy’s voice dripped with awe. “I have never heard such music!”
“You shall learn to paint with music like me,” said the voice, “with emotion, voracity and perfect leaps through every draw of the bow, painting musical sounds! The four strings of the violin are capable of lightning, singing, thunderstorms, even birds singing! This is the instrument of kings!”
“May I pluck the violin?”
“That is the reason you are here. Pluck away.”
Bill Dempsey listened as his son scratched the bow across the strings of the violin. It was an awful high-pitched tumble of sounds. Now there was a long pull of the bow. It sadly hummed along a string in one long perfect note.
The man laughed loudly. “Bravo, Buddy! Your first words spoken with music.”
Bill Dempsey relaxed. His useless kid had passed the audition.
The Witch with 500 Hats - Prologue
The half-drunk man untied the scull and pushed it away from the shore. It was just before midnight - the start of a new witching hour. As steaming fog frothed along the calm riverbank, the man rowed. The lanky boy in the bow cradled his arms to bring warmth to his shivering body, listening to the hurried slap of wooden oars against water. The man was running late and that made him tense.
“Won't be long now, boy. Just a few hundred yards out there - in the river.”
“What if he don't like me?”
“Shaddup, boy! He better like you or you'll get yourself another whipping! Are we clear?”
“Yessir. Perfectly.”
“And no smart-ass talk!”
“Yessir.”
There was no traffic on the wide river now. Captains of bigger ships didn't want to risk navigating between the drifting sandbars without moon or daylight or tugs at the high end of the mighty Mississippi. The scull made good time out to the thin tree-lined island standing midstream and approached the old paddle steamer tied off on the shoreline. The scull drifted past the stern’s stilled paddlewheel along the port side to a hanging ladder. The man tossed a rope to the boy and looked nervously about.
“Tie us up, Buddy, and be quick about it. He’s an important man. We don't want to rile him.”
“We are just a little late,” said the boy as he tied the small craft to a gunwale.
The man reached over and grabbed the boy by the scruff of his neck. “Don't be the fool like your father,” the man whispered desperately. “This is an opportunity for the both of us! Do you hear me?” He studied the decks for signs of life and returned his gaze to the boy. “I told him you were smart. Don't say too much. Don't smile. And try not to wiggle.”
“But you still haven't told me why I am here,” the boy reasoned.
“He’ll tell you,” said the boy's father. “This is just your introduction. He has to like you first.”
“Introduction to what?”
“The ways of men, the path to a new life.”
A man in shadows bellowed from above with a deep baritone voice. “Who's down there?”
The father released his grip and called back. “It's Bill Dempsey. I brought out my son as promised.”
The beam from a flashlight raced across father and son.
“You're late,” said the voice. “Bring him up, then. Let's have a look.”
Dempsey lifted his boy to the ladder and handed him up towards the man. Buddy was yanked on deck.
“You can stay behind in the boat,” said the man. “I’ll take it from here.”
“Yes, of course. I knew that. Thank you,” said Bill Dempsey.
“Let me see your hands,” he heard the man say. “Good. Long, strong fingers as promised… Follow me.”
Bill Dempsey sat back down in the scull. After the fall of retreating footsteps faded away, he reached inside his coat pocket for the bottle of rye whiskey. Dempsey smiled and drank to his future.
“The kid’ll be alright,” he convinced himself. “Just has to play dumb, is all.”
As he lay back in the scull, he noticed an opened portal window above the waterline. He pulled the small craft within hearing distance. The man was leading the boy down a set of stairs to the boat’s small dining hall.
The man’s voice continued. “Have you ever seen a violin boy?”
“Not up close, sir,” Buddy replied.
“Think you can learn to play it?”
“I can do pretty much anything if I put my mind to it.”
“Just one caprice. That’s all I ask.”
“I’m sorry, sir?”
“A musical piece written and played by a man named Pavorini a long time ago.”
“Pavo?”
“Pavorini. He was the greatest violinist who ever lived. This is one of his original bows. But there was a price to pay for his gift.”
“Sir?”
The man smiled, speaking softly. “He sold his soul to the devil.”
"Just to play music?"
"In time, you'll understand."
“Why do you want me to learn this caprice?”
“In due time, all will be revealed.”
“My father said there is money involved.”
“There is - some now, more as we go and plenty more when we’re finished. All that you learn must be in the strictest confidence. Am I understood?”
“Yessir.”
“After all, Buddy, we wouldn’t something bad to happen to your family, now would we?”
“No sir.”
There was a light clatter as the violin was pulled from its case. “Hand me the bow, young man,”
Bill Dempsey took another drink in the scull and listened as the violin was played. It was the music of a haunted virtuoso played with unrivaled technical artistry. But there was something in the emotional notes that made Dempsey’s hair stand up and his blood curdle. “What have I done?” he pondered.
The music stopped.
Young Buddy’s voice dripped with awe. “I have never heard such music!”
“You shall learn to paint with music like me,” said the voice, “with emotion, voracity and perfect leaps through every draw of the bow, painting musical sounds! The four strings of the violin are capable of lightning, singing, thunderstorms, even birds singing! This is the instrument of kings!”
“May I pluck the violin?”
“That is the reason you are here. Pluck away.”
Bill Dempsey listened as his son scratched the bow across the strings of the violin. It was an awful high-pitched tumble of sounds. Now there was a long pull of the bow. It sadly hummed along a string in one long perfect note.
The man laughed loudly. “Bravo, Buddy! Your first words spoken with music.”
Bill Dempsey relaxed. His useless kid had passed the audition.
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