The Luminari Launch

This weeks sees me finally getting my finger out and publishing The Luminari. This is a story I've been working on since November 2020 (what!?) and is Jake Jones's 3rd case after The Old Mice Killer and The Coffee Cup Killer. Happily it is the first of Jake's adventures to reach novel length, coming in at 54k words. 

In it, Jake investigates a mysterious cult in the desert, alleged by his new client Lucida Grande (shortly before she is incapacitated by a poison-laced cigarette) to be brain-washing members and stealing their personal savings and identities, replacing them with font names. He is tasked with finding her sister, Gill Sans, which sounds simple enough. At first.

I blatantly stole the idea from fellow West Lothian Writer, Nadine Little, and ran with it. She seems to have given me her blessing and magnanimously refused accepting ten percent of the profits, unless I make it big. Nadine also was kind enough to write a brilliant foreword for the book, as well as gave lots of great feedback advice and many hours of her time checking for errors (any that remain are definitely mine and not hers).

After approaching several agents and publishers with the story and seeing it rejected time and again, I confess I became disheartened. Felt I was knocking on Heaven's door until my knuckles bled. One or two publishers were tempted but put off by the fact that it wasn't the first in a series, but the third. Was it ever destined to see the light of day? They say you should never give up, and I told myself to keep going until I got at least 100 rejections. Which is easier said than done. The inner child in me was beginning to think, "Screw this," for which I harshly chastized it and told it to get back up the chimney and keep sweeping, dammit.

The light was going out of my writing life. I'm sure you'll agree there's a big soulful difference between creating colourful characters, dropping them in amusing situations and enjoying watching them dig themselves out, versus compiling multiple sightly different pitches to send out to established people in the publishing industry morning after morning, guardians of the golden goose, only to be knocked back again and again. 

For this reason my heartfelt thanks goes out to Twitter pal Andy Crosby, who saw value in, and convinced me to return to, the project. The Luminari will therefore be published under the Raptor Filmz banner (my small media business), as with the first two.

You can pre-order The Luminari ebook here and through the power of science it will be beamed directly to your device on Wednesday 17th May.

The paperback version will be live from Wednesday 17th May too. Those of you who think it's already live are mistaken. It can't be. That would be improper. 

I'm even currently wrestling with the document to craft a hardback version, and recording an audiobook too just for the heck of it. I've already received a proof of the 6" by 9" hardback and it's very nice I have to say. Just needs a few tweaks here and there before finalising.

The audiobook is a whole nother beast. Recording the story in the voice of Jake Jones (who turns out is from a fictional city crossed between Brooklyn and Boston) and maintaining consistency, is not easy. Add to that so many other characters who are from completely random places around the world (decided purely on whether I can do the accents or not) just pours more petrol on the pyre of pandemonium. Why is Freda from Liverpool? Why? No reference is made to this in the text. Why did she move to the US and decide to look after young offenders? Why has her accent not been Americanized? Why have Big Caslon's jaws been wired together? It makes no sense. And not only do I have to do impersonations of characters, I have to do impersonations of Jake doing impersonations of those characters, as he is the one telling the story... It makes me want to pull my hair out, and hopefully you yours.

Anyway, it's a lot of fun and it certainly adds a whole new dimension to the story. Many thanks to John Perivolaris for his mic vocal popper shield that enabled me to get this done. Hopefully it will be completed this week.

So on Wednesday 17th May at, let's say, 12 noon, I'll do a livestream to mark the launch, probably on my Facebook page. If you have any questions you'd like to ask me about the writing or publishing of The Luminari, or any of the Jake Jones stories, please email me at chrisryoung75@gmail.com or just ask me in the livestream.

Looking forward to seeing you then!

Page To Screen

Been a productive couple of days. 

West Lothian Film on Monday saw the enactment (and then re-enactment) of chapter 2 of the script version of The Luminari. It's great to hear the dialogue expertly ready out, and really interesting how things evolve in the translation from page to screen. Forces me to think more clearly about dialogue and how characters in a story should react to each other. 

For example, in prose you can get away with a character not replying to a snide remark, but in a script it seems wrong, like they are an NPC - a Non-Player Character : an AI in a video game that just stands there not doing anything or wanders around ignoring inputs from real players. See, I'm real down with the kids' funky lingo these days. Not to be confused with NCP, the National Car Parks around Edinburgh.

Also I decided to combine chapter 2 with the ending of chapter 3 as it seemed to give the scene a stronger finish. Having Jake provide a voiceover adds to the noir detective film style of the era and is another opportunity for fun.

We even discussed animation options and how to bring Jake and the other characters to life on screen.

Last night saw the reading of chapters 51"Elevator Pitch" & 52 "Intermission" at West Lothian Writers and I got some great feedback to apply. What works, what doesn't work, what only works for 50% of the readers, etc. Reading to an audience also really focuses the mind because you find yourself thinking, "Jeez, this is taking so long, why am I even including this?" and you feel guilty for taking up so much of the allocated meeting time reading stuff which is not all that great or critically important.

I've started sending The Luminari out to agents and publishers and it's a nail-biting and challenging process. All I can really do is hope the story and style appeals to someone, somewhere. Plus it must be weird for a prospective publisher to be introduced to a story at volume 3. Why didn't I start with volume 1: The Old Mice Killer, I ask myself.

Well, The Old Mice Killer was just a novella at 16,500 words, largely unpublishable due to brevity, and Jake and I were still finding his our feet. The Coffee Cup Killer was more advanced at 32,000. For some reason the Luminari has just expanded and grown to 55k like some alien techno-blob swallowing Tokyo, growing with every skyscraper and municipality it devours, immune to RPGs fired at it from the Japanese Self Defence Forces (editors). Perhaps my writing endurance has increased, like long-distance running. Or maybe I have lost the art of keeping things short and sweet.

Finally, unable to withstand the temptation any longer, I have uploaded The Luminari to Amazon in order to purchase a proof copy and see how the book looks, feels and smells in my hands, and to give it one more final polish.

Wish me luck.

The Missing 'Old Mice' Ratty Chapter

I had a feeling I was on thin ice, so I skated gingerly over to where Ratty Rathbone was standing near the edge of the rink selling dope to teenagers.

Scraping to a halt I showered them with shavings.

“What the —” Then he saw me and all the blood drained from his furry, narrow face.

“Hello, Ratty,” I grinned. “Betcha didn’t expect to be seein’ me here?” 

“J-Jake!” he stammered. “No, yeah, well, I didn’t know you could skate!” Ratty’s whiskers twitched sporadically. His long nostrils flared. A thin, pink tongue flickered over his protruding front teeth. Crumbs of cheese fell from his stubble when he ran a scrawny claw over his chin. His long, tan overcoat was crumpled and stained in contrast to the shiny new skates he’d rented, upon which he tottered precariously. For balance, his other hand was hooked on the barrier rail surrounding the rink.

The teenagers drifted away as soon as they saw me. Some of them were already pretty high. One as high as a kite.

“Whatcha sellin’ these days, Ratty,” I said, peering up at them. “Helium?”

“No, Jake, j-just the usual mix, ya know. Herbal really, for relaxation purposes. Helps them study. Some o’ these kids have stressful home lives.”

“Aww, you’re a real do-gooder community figure,” I said, patting his jowls.

“W-what can I do you for, Jake?” Ratty sniffed, his eyes darting hither and thither. “The usual?”

“Nah, I’m here for some intel.” I watched the skaters of all ages, speeds and creeds whiz by in a clockwise direction. “What’s the lowdown on the Bayview Hotel?”

“The B-B-Bayview?!”

“You seem kinda nervous,” I growled. “Maybe you should take some o' your own medicine.”

“Aw, naw, Jake, I’m fine. It’s just that … every time you come around askin’ for info … well, somethin’ bad happens.”

“Come on, Ratty,” I said, gesturing around at the ice rink. “We’re in a wide open public space. What could possibly happen to you here?”

“Well,” he said, his tiny eyes like grains of salt burning through ice. “Okay. I guess. The Bayview Hotel is a hotel overlooking the bay.”

“No shit.”

“It was built in the 60s back in the boom years when racing car drivers and the like came down the coast rolling in dough. Then it got taken over by some shady new management and went downhill. Rumours of guests going missing didn’t help.”

“Rumours?”

“Yeah, nothin’ was ever proved but—”

“You sayin’ it’s haunted?”

Ratty sniggered, unable to hide the tone of hysteria which had crept in. A bit like the acrid stench of body odor his cologne was futilely charged with combatting. I could almost see the vapors rising from his tattered, ill-fitting garments. My eyes stung. “Naw, Jake, ha ha, that would be ridiculous.”

“You mentioned a take over.”

“I did?”

“Yeah, some shady new management, you said.”

His eyes darted about in a pitiful rendition of how they darted about a few minutes ago, except even more so. His tongue flickered over his dry, chapped lips. “It was a business venture run by a guy. Big, powerful. Dangerous.”

“Guy got a name?”

“Yeah,” Ratty gulped at the air like he had trouble breathing. “You’re not gonna believe this, it was Roger —”

We were interrupted when a huge, muscular slab of beef in a dark business suit shoved between us. He grunted, “‘Scuse me, ladies,” in a gruff voice and skated off, disappearing into the crowd.

When I returned my gaze to Ratty I found his expression had altered. 

His scrawny face, which had been flushed with the excitement of disclosure, had become ashen and drawn. He was looking down, one hand covering his abdomen. Red drips seeped through his fingers and dropped onto the white ice.

“Ratty?” I said. 

One knee buckled and I grabbed him by the shoulders, and then the other skate shot out from under him and he went down.

“Ah, shit.” I scanned the skaters but there was no sign of the hulking form that had pushed between us.

“Jake,” he muttered.

“Ratty,” I said. “The name. You were about to tell me the name. Roger who?”

“Jake,” he mumbled again. “Why? Life is so … futile …”

“No it ain’t Ratty, life is great. Now tell me the damn name!”

His head tipped sideways and his eyes half closed.

“Hell.” I stood up. “Medic!” I shouted. “We got a medic here?”

The skaters near us stared, gasped and cleared a space around us. A guy in white came running towards us from the direction of the office.

I knelt down. “It’s okay Ratty, it’s gonna be okay.”

“Cold,” he whispered. “So cold …”

With my number one informant and drug-dealer safely wheeled into an ambulance and whisked off to St Mary’s, I was free to continue my investigation. 

I figured the next stop was the Bayview Hotel.

Guests going missing? Guy called Roger? And who was the muscular giant who’d stabbed Ratty to shut him up? Was I being followed?

Ratty had given me more questions than answers.

And a desire to wash my nose out with disinfectant...

Many thanks to the team at West Lothian Writers for their valuable feedback on the above last night.

Read more of Jake Jones' 1st case The Old Mice Killer available on Amazon.

A Preview from Jake Jones & The Puppy Master

And that's how I found myself on a Greyhound headed west.

It was such a relief to get out of the City. Layers of wrapped up frustrations I never knew I had peeled away via the rumble of the wheels and the browns and beiges of the fields rolling by. I’d forgotten what the horizon looked like. 

My phone buzzed. It was Freda, the social worker in charge of Grizzy’s case; a precocious young black male I’d kinda taken under my wing since our misadventure with The Coffee Cup Killer. 

But that’s another story (available on Amazon).

“Freda,” I said.

“Jake.”

“What’s up?”

“Grizzy’s in trouble again.”

“What’s happened?”

“Another fight. Group of whites in the gym hall. Not sure how it started.”

“Is he okay?”

“Few lumps and bruises. Cut above the eye.”

“Sounds like a bit o’ healthy rough and tumble.”

“‘Cept he put two of the other kids in the hospital wing. He’d filed down a sharp piece of metal he got from somewhere. Used it as a knife.”

Dusty, abandoned office down at the docks. Grizzy and Latte tower over me. The shine in Latte’s eyes matches the gleam on his blade. “I’m gonna cut you up.” 

Hell of a role model. 

“Self defence?” I hazarded.

“End of the day it doesn’t matter who started it. You know the house rules. He’s getting his privileges taken away.”

“Shit, Freda, I gotta get him outta there.”

“No time soon. Not with this going on.”

“What’s he supposed to do, let himself get beat up?”

“Jake, one of those kids is in a critical condition.”

“Putain branlette!” I said, punching the headrest in front of me. Then I took a breath, got hold of myself. “Pardon my French.”

“It’s okay. Just thought you ought to know.”

“Thanks Freda, I appreciate it.”

I hung up and watched a combine harvesting a field of corn spit it down a chute into a trailer being pulled alongside.

I’d barely hung up before my phone rang again. The screen announced, ‘Roger Dingwall’.

“Jesus Christ, Jones!”

“Nice to hear from you too, Roger.”

“What the hell just happened?”

“A combine harvester spat a bunch of corn down a chute into a trailer being pulled alongside.”

“I been getting calls, emails, texts up the wazoo!”

“Sounds uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, it was. Who the hell are The Luminari?”

“Don’t know yet. That’s what I’m on my way to find out.”

“Listen Jake, I’m all for helping you but I’d appreciate a little warning next time you promise my firm’s gonna invest in some shady religious cult.”

“A million bucks.”

“A million what now!?”

“Come on Roger, it’s a nice round number. Or rather one short thin number followed by six nice round numbers.”

“Are you out of my tiny mind!?”

“Look, calm down Roger before you pop a valve. I didn’t make any promises. I’m just danglin’ ‘em in front like a carrot. A gold carrot. A million gold carrots.”

“Well make sure it stays that way. For God’s sake don’t sign anything!”

“Come on Roger, gimme some credit, I’m not a total moron.”

“You’re not? When did that happen?”

“Putain de connard ingrat!” I shouted, punching the headrest in front of me.

“Huh?”

“Pardon my French,” I said, taking a breath to calm down. “Look Roger, are we forgetting I saved your life during ‘Nam?”

“Yeah you saved my life once. Once! And you’ve called in about a hundred damn favours!”

“Would you rather I’d just left you lying there with your toe stuck in the tap?”

“It woulda come out eventually! It was just swollen!”

“Said the priest to the hooker.”

“This is the last time, Jake, the last time, got it!?”

Click.

Things were moving along nicely.

Then the guy in front of me stood up, spitting vitriol at me in French, quickly followed by his female partner, a tour guide and most of the other passengers.

Suddenly the coach screeched to a halt throwing up a plume of dust. Peering out the dirt-smattered windows it was clear that we were far from civilisation. The empty road stretched for miles towards each horizon.

But it was hard to appreciate the view with a bus load of Frenchies hot under the collar, berating me unforgivingly for my bad French.

I glanced up to see the driver — a grey-skinned, lithe, wiry chap in a uniform three sizes too big for him — stomping speedily down the aisle towards me.

“Allez!” he barked, gesturing abruptly with his thumb towards the coach door.

And that’s how I found myself stranded in the middle of nowhere at the side of a long deserted road.

Excerpt from The Puppy Master © Chris R Young 2020. All rights reserved.

The Coffee Cup Killer

I’m very happy to announce that my new novella ‘The Coffee Cup Killer’, the next episode in the Jake Jones Sleuth-Hound saga since ‘The Old Mice Killer’(2017), will be published by Raptor Filmz on Friday 23rd October! It will be available as an ebook on Amazon and Kobo (£2.99/$3.99) and a paperback from Lulu.com and myself (£5.99/ $7.75).

Jake Jones is a sleuth-hound in a city full of femme fatales, drug cartels, corrupt cops, dirty politicians and dangerous power-lords. He has a nose for trouble and he follows it always. But what starts out as a simple stalker case spirals into something much worse, as Jake finds himself embroiled in the latest spate of bloody murders to plague the city - those of the Coffee Cup Killer...

Many thanks to everyone who has offered insight, advice and encouragement to help Jake Jones on his journey.

The Coffee Cup Killer : Chapter One

For the sheer heck of it, to find out how it sounds and to celebrate finishing the first round of editing, I read out the first chapter of The Coffee Cup Killer, The Second Jake Jones Mystery, on video. Then I added noir jazz music and black and white old film effects. Because why not?

The Coffee Cup Killer A Jake Jones Mystery Prequel to The Old Mice Killer Coming Soon ... https://www.facebook.com/ChrisRYoungAuthor https://twitter.com/ChrisRYoung1 https://blog.chrisryoung.co.uk © Chris R Young 2020 Music : MrSnooze https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iYOvAO1rAM0

Colorblind - A Book Review

'Colorblind' by Reed Farrel Coleman 

Published by No Exit Press 2019

I just want to start this by saying I'm not criticising - I'm reviewing. As a hardly published author I take my hat off to those who are established 'real' writers, and as ever want to express my condolences to the estate of Robert B Parker and appreciation and gratitude for the great man's work. This blog post is merely for the sake of analysis and writing practice for myself to understand what works and what doesn't, in my own work and others' in the hope of becoming a better writer.

I've just finished reading Robert B Parker's 'Colorblind' written by Reed Farrel Coleman, which is an interesting case because Robert B Parker is one of my all time favourite authors in the person of private detective Spenser, who inspired me to work on my Old Mice Killer series with Jake Jones. I won't lie to you, it was his name in huge letters on the front cover which attracted me to this book in the library, but after Robert B Parker's sad demise in 2010 his characters and worlds threatened to be no more, until his estate passed his baton on to other writers to carry on the flame.

In principle I've been both for and against this in the past. On one hand I think it's great that Parker's characters live on, but on the other hand it seems inauthentic. The cover itself, as with Clive Cussler's recent pair up novels where he works with other authors, is designed to - as with me - lure in readers using Parker's name in huge font at the top, and the real author's name (who I confess I'd never heard of until now) in small letters at the bottom. It seems like false advertising on one level. But from a publishing standpoint I understand they have books to sell, and from the estate's standpoint they want to honour the great writer's memory.

Even before, I hadn't read much of the Jesse Stone series, but I was that much a fan of Parker's strong male lead characters, sense of humour and turn of phrase that I thought I'd give it a bash. So it was with a dip of disappointment when I realised it wasn't actually he who had written the story. Nevertheless, I started the novel (283 pages), and sure enough I could see signs of Parker's handiwork in the strong male lead with steel will and moral fibre, who took it upon himself to shelter the weak and lost, but not much humour. I don't know if the original Jesse Stone had much of a sense of humour in the past, but perhaps it was due to being a recovering (bereaving?) alcoholic at this stage in his life maybe there was less to be cheerful about. I don't know. I'll have to dig further back to find out.

The story is definitely a slow burner - or perhaps I should say, has a long fuse. Well written, with an involving mix of characters all with their own issues and directions. But Jesse doesn't seem to do much but keep his ears open and stay off the drink (although myself trying to abstain from various addictions over the years I know how hard this can be) for most of the book. And then all of a sudden – Boom – on page 261 (the 92% mark) all of the groundwork that Reed Farrel Coleman has built pays off and blows the top of your head off. And you're left thinking, Holy sh-cow, how did he do that? The rug has been pulled out from under you and you're flying slow motion in mid air with the book in one hand, a cup of early morning tea in the other and lines of amazement creasing your forehead, thinking, what the hell?

Anyway. The book was a rewarding read. If you're familiar with the characters from earlier novels (which I wasn't, so perhaps that was why a lot of them were hard to remember 2D names for me – hooks with nothing to hang on) then I think Reed Farrel Coleman does an admirable (and brave) job of carrying the torch, as after all Robert B Parker is a hard act to follow and a writer worth devoting some study and time to.

I'm going to give this book four stars out of five. I think it's a solid work that delivers on all promises. Coleman does an admiral job - one that I certainly couldn't do and would immediately shy away from. But I still feel cheated by the cover. I know we shouldn't judge books by their covers, but we do. Anyone who's tried to self publish knows a book's cover is important. You get one chance to make a visual impression, and your cover is it. I think the climax is rewarding enough to make all the waiting around worth it, but the waiting around is another reason why it's 4 stars and not 5. As I said, I know staying off the one thing you want in all the world is hard going, and Coleman captures that well, but the first 90% of the book needs more rewards, more meat. More character development. More Easter eggs. More humour. More flashes of the old Robert B Parker. It was nice to see Vinnie Morris pop up again, but that wasn't enough. Personally I would have appreciated about 50 pages' worth of Robert B Parkerisms sprinkled throughout the book. Food, humour, romance, geography, history, baseball trivia (Al Dente). You know what I mean? That kind of stuff. It's great when the bus finally comes, but it helps to have someone interesting to share the bus stop until that happens. That said, I was inspired to stand and write a long and involving blog post about this novel in my pyjamas five minutes after the last page, which doesn't happen often, so something's clicked.

This is how, in my mind, the cover should have looked, and would probably fit in with the high moral standard of Robert B Parker's lead characters.

Colorblind

by

Reed Farrel Coleman

The New Jesse Stone Mystery

<Image>

Based on The Characters and World

Created by Robert B Parker

Have a look at Robert B Parker's Wikipedia page. I thoroughly recommend investing time, money and effort reading his original works and I intend to go back and fill in the holes as soon as possible. Reed Farrel Coleman's pretty good too and I think I'll pick up more of his work in the future also.

Thanks for reading.