The first Draft Chapter of the 15th book of The Falls small town mystery series: The Falls: Brotherly Love (Enjoy!)

Just after dawn, Ed Morganstein tromped along the shore of Lake Pumpkinseed, fishing pole, fishing tackle box and a can of worms held tightly in his arms. He was headed to his favorite on shore fishing hole. It was a little cove surrounded by a half circle of willow trees that leaned out over the water. The willow trees obviously had no leaves at this point and there were chunks of dirty snow and ice still underfoot as he slowly made his way along the partially frozen shore. But it didn’t matter. From time to time he altered his path to carefully avoid clumps and slabs of thick, gray mud.

March in Vermont is a month of mystery. One year it can be filled with intense snowstorms, ice storms, subzero temperatures and swirling, whipping winds. The next year, it might be mild, with the winter’s supply of snow and ice melting, and a few wildflowers poking up their heads, only to be covered by snow again the next day. Then the snow melts once more and the ground begins to thaw out only for a freak ice storm to swoop in overnight. Sometimes, the mud season even begins before the month is out.

Let’s be clear, there are five distinct seasons in Vermont. Spring, summer, fall, winter and mud seasons. Mud season comes after the first signs of spring and before the warmth and humidity of true summer. But mud in Vermont is totally unlike mud in most locales.

Vermont mud is thick, cold, heavy and sticks to anything like glue. It’s composed mostly of thick clay and heavy loam imbedded with ice and seems to have a life of it’s own. Farmers have to wait for the mud to soften and disperse before they dare till their fields. Vermont school children know that if they get their boots stuck in spring mud, they may never get the back. School bus drivers understand the darker elements of Vermont mud and make sure they don’t drive on any dirt roads or shoulders covered with the stuff. They understand all too well that it will take a heavy tow truck to pull them out once they venture in.

Vermont’s unfrozen spring mud takes whatever finds its way into it and slowly but surely sucks it in, to hold on to it forever. So it has always been and so it will always be.

But on this particular day, Ed Morganstein found himself marching slowly along the shore of Lake Pumpkinseed during the first week in March. Thoughts of mud season were far from his thoughts. True, it was still chilly and the lake water was frigid. Also true, there were still chunks of ice from that winter’s ice flow still floating out in the smooth waters or lying motionless and slowly melting on the partially frozen shore around the lake.

But Ed Morganstein was an avid fisherman. He was also retired so he didn’t have the hardware store to take up his time and his thoughts anymore. He had been house bound most of the winter, with several slight cases of cabin fever. He had missed fishing in the worst way possible. Yes, he had been out ice fishing several times, but although ice fishing was nice, to Ed, sitting on the banks of the lake or drifting in his dinghy out in the middle of the lake was what fishing was all about.

Once he had finally reached his fishing spot, he grinned with delight as he carefully arranged a worm on the hook and he continued to grin as he placed a red and white bobber up ten feet from the sinker and baited hook and made an accurate cast out thirty feet into the lake.

Sighing with pleasure, Ed opened his small folding chair and sat down, his sunglasses reflecting the bright, shimmering rays of the early morning sun. Truth be told, Ed didn’t even really care if he caught any fish today. What mattered was that it was his first day of fishing for the year. What he loved most was simply being there, breathing in the crisp air, staring around at the beautiful scenery of Lake Pumpkinseed and feeling the wind and sun on his rugged, weathered face.

Ed happened to gaze over toward Mallard Landing on the other side of the lake. He squinted and made out two unmoving figures out standing on Mallard’s dock. He grinned to himself. He knew without being able to see their faces that it was Mallard Hornsworth and Reggie Clark standing out there in hopes that some early season ducks would find their way home to be fed, pampered and spoiled this morning.

Suddenly curious, Ed lifted his eyes to the skies and squinted once again as he scanned overhead for a full minute. There were no ducks, no geese, no waterfowl at all to be seen. Ed nodded to himself, figuring that Mallard and Reggie would just have to wait a little longer for their migrating pets to arrive from the south.

Ed stared back out to where his bobber was floating on the surface of the lake. Suddenly the red and white float began bobbing up and down in a jerky, unrhythmic motion. Ed grinned in anticipation as he carefully reeled in the slack and got ready to set the hook, should the fish that was playing with the worm should get serious. His muscles tensed.

He watched the bobber as it dipped sharply beneath the surface and then, with perfect timing, he yanked back the pole and felt the hook set solidly in the fish’s mouth. His grin widened as he felt the perch fight and saw it jump. It was about a fifteen-inch perch, good size, just right for frying up on top of the stove for breakfast. He joyfully played with the fish for a few seconds and then got down to business and pulled him in, walking down to and into the edge of the lake. He reached down and grabbed the perch expertly by the mouth.

Picking the wiggling fish up, he gave a satisfied sigh and whispered passionately to himself, “It's fishing season again, old man! First fish of the season! You made it through the winter one more year! Good for you!”

Standing in six inches of water, his boots feeling the icy cold of the lake, he held the perch firmly with one hand while dislodging the hook from the fish’s mouth making sure the sharp center spine in the fish’s back didn’t stick him. For some reason, the shimmering early morning rays of the sun began playing across the smooth surface of the water at that moment. As they did, Ed’s eyes became attracted to and focused on what appeared to be some sort of fairly large, dark object under the surface of the water about six feet away from shore.

With the squirming fish in one hand and his pole in the other, Ed stepped a few feet closer and stared over at what looked like a large lump of clothing. Ed’s first thought was that some fisherman had lost their jacket in the lake last fall. But then, whatever it was, looked much bigger than a jacket now that he was closer to it.

Cautiously, Ed reached out a boot and nudged the object. It felt solid. It didn’t move. Stepping closer, and becoming more and more curious every second, Ed found himself next to the object and staring down curiously at it. For a moment, the object looked shadowy and indistinct and seemed covered with some of the fast growing weeds from the lake. Then, a larger wave surged up and around the object. The object shifted and turned and all of a sudden Ed Morganstein knew exactly what it was. It was a dead, badly decomposed body.

Eyes wide with shock, his mouth formed in a perfect ‘O’, adrenaline spiking sharply, and his face deathly pale, Ed Morganstein quickly tried to scramble away from the body. Unfortunately, his boots slid across the slimy surface of a large, slippery rock. A second later, Ed Morganstein was gasping and seated in two feet of ice cold freezing water, completely soaked and the now liberated perch was back in the water, hightailing it for the nearest bed of weeds.

Ed Morganstein stared over to where the body was still submerged and he scrambled fearfully to his feet, retreating quickly until his feet scrambled up on dry land. Raging rivulets of water streamed down his pants and his boots that were now filled with ice water, but Ed didn’t even notice. All his brain could deal with at the moment was: He had just been in the water with a corpse!

As his heart slowed, his foggy brain started accessing thoughts other than the startling find of the dead body, and his soaked, icy clothing began to make him shiver, he realized what he need to do. Luckily, his cell phone had been in his tackle box all along.

“West Sugar Shack Falls Sheriff’s office,” came Darlene’s flat, commanding voice. “What can we do for you?” It was Darlene’s second week back on the job after her injury and she was back to her old self.

For a moment, Ed just stood there standing and staring wide-eyed at the indistinct object under the water, hoping that perhaps he had just imagined the body. Then, as if in response, a hand slowly rose to the surface and then, as the current changed, sunk below the surface once again.

“I, ah,” Ed sputtered, dripping and shaking, into the phone his brain still not quite in gear, “found a dead body. It’s in the lake. The body is in the lake. Lake Pumpkinseed. I think I need the sheriff. Now.”

CreateSpace and Me...

     I have been experimenting with placing my first novel of The Falls small town mystery series, The Falls: In the Dead of Winter, on CreateSpace. I have been told, and wisely so, that I need to have my books in print as well as ebooks at the Kindle Store. I agree, it's the way to go. But I am finding that self-publishing on CreateSpace is a bit more of a challenge than publishing with Kindle Direct Publishing. I totally screwed up the first couple of forms that I downloaded from CreateSpace. 

     Now if I knew more about working with Word, it might be a good deal easier. It seems that I know just enough to be dangerous. I seem to have screwed up the formatting of my first novel, which somehow doesn't surprise me. Luckily, I have a writer friend helping me, patiently working out the issues with me. I'm sure that as with everything else, it will get easier the more I do it. But that doesn't really help a great deal right now. Frustration and despair alternate at times.

     In essence, I am a storyteller. I weave stories and create worlds. That's where my expertise lies. I've used computers forever, but I don't have the technical savvy that some people have. I know enough to get around, email, Twitter, my blog, FB and writing on Word. I can download and install programs. I can print and scan. But I don't know the intricacies of technology by any means. I don't know how all the magic works. At this point, I'm wondering how many non-techies there are out there in the writing world. How many writers are just storytellers and have little technical expertise? It would make an interesting survey, don't you think?

     As I go forward, an old Scottish dog learning new tricks, I will persevere. From time to time, I'll post my progress in this blog. Perhaps for myself as much as for anyone else. Sometimes it's good to remind yourself of where you are and where you're going.

     May the dragons (and the technical gods as well) watch over us all...

The Falls: Pretentious Withdrawal

     The Falls: Pretentious Withdrawal will be published at the Amazon Kindle Store very shortly! This, the 14th story in The Falls small town mystery series, will have a shocking beginning! The story revolves around a bank robbery, a Nor'easter that inundates New England causing the loss of power to most of the area, and a deadly manhunt. An old villain of sorts resurfaces,  Yamato falls asleep at the wheel and the people of The Falls celebrate Thanksgiving in a new and rather intriguing way!

     Come and join in with the excitement, surprise and astonishment! Return to The Falls! The community members are waiting for you! The Falls: Pretentious Withdrawal out soon! Only $2.99 at the Kindle Store!

I've Been Tagged!

     Tagged, that is, to participate in a blog hop for writers. Every Monday a new set of Authors blog about their own writing process, using a standard format. This is definitely a multi-genre hop. There are at least mystery,  paranormal, young adult and romance writers involved. Follow the chain and see for yourself!

What am I working on?

     I've just started The Falls: Body of Evidence, the 15th of The Falls small town mystery series. It begins with Ed Morganstein, the retired hardware store owner, discovering a frozen body just as he catches a perch during his first fishing trip of the season to Lake Pumpkinseed. A fishing trip he'll not likely forget! The body, when put together with the severed hand found on the shore at the end of the last volume, gives Sheriff Cash Green and Deputies Ericka Yamato and Horace Scofield the clues they need to begin to solve the crime.

     At the same time, I'm working hard at getting the 14th volume of The Falls' mysteries, The Falls: Withdrawal (still not quite sure of the title),  edited and ready for publication on KDP. It should be published in ebook format for $2.99 at the end of this month! A bank robbery at the very beginning of the story looks for all the world like one of The Falls' favorite characters may be turning to a life of crime!

     I'm also in the process of, and struggling with, publishing the first Falls mystery, The Falls: In the Dead of Winter, on CreateSpace! I will readily admit, it's a technical challenge for someone who is simply an old storyteller, but it will work out sooner or later. I don't have the technical skills needed, but I'm learning and working hard at it with the help of my friend Kate Eileen Shannon. Eventually, I hope to have all of The Falls mystery series in paperback form for those readers who would rather hold a real book in their hands.

     Amazingly enough, I have also started a Twitter account (TheFalls_VT) and would love to hear from you! 880 followers already and counting, chuckles. In addition I obviously work at maintaining my blog (georgewjackson@blogspot.com) and my author pages on FB and Google. A busy schedule for a retired school principal who is not all that techno-savvy! 

How does my work differ from others of its genre?

     Good question. My small town mysteries fall very close to cozy mystery territory. In fact most of The Falls books could easily be classified as cozies. I call them small town mysteries because the citizens of the town, West Sugar Shack Falls, Vermont, are actively involved in solving the cases, in some way or another. The cast of characters is wide and colorful. Many of the characters will be people that will remind you of your Aunt Susan, Grandpa Jesse, or old man Mallory across the street. The characters are the most important element of the story, with lots of side stories as well as some good old fashioned action and adventure at times. No graphic violence, sex or vulgar language, much like any other cozy mystery. The first book in the series has more violence than the rest, but there's a reason for that. When I first began In the Dead of Winter, I wasn't thinking of making it a cozy mystery. It was simply a mystery that happens in a small town. So there is more violence, but not too explicit and not just for the sake of violence.

     I also write a fantasy series entitled Dragon World that you can find at the Kindle Store. There are six volumes and it all takes place on the wild, rugged and lusty world of Rupar! Dragonriders, barbarians, dark sorcerers and white wizards, all fighting for control of this fantastical, stunning world! This series does have lusty love scenes, intrigue, dark schemes and battles galore! The first volume is entitled Dragon World: Dragon Magic. I'd say these stories fall comfortably into the typical epic fantasy adventure catagory. Soar up and away on your dragon and return to Rupar!

     Tales from the Principal's Bench is a collection of short stories about kids, parents, school staff members and life in general. Humor is the order of the day! Available at The Kindle Store as an ebook.

     The Twilight Tea Party is my children's book at the Kindle Store. It was originally written for my granddaughter Juliana, and is available to everyone now as an ebook. It weaves a story of a little girl who had just moved into her new home, an amusing hedgehog, a ballerina bear and a punctual, persnickity rabbit.

Why do I write what I do?

     Again, an interesting question. I wrote the dragon rider series at night while still a principal. Perhaps it was my way of getting away from the 12-14 hours a day that I was the person in charge and ultimately made the decisions. It might be termed a break from reality, which we all need from time to time.

     The small town mystery simply came about because I love mysteries and that small town is where my head and heart came from. I was born and raised in a small town in rural Vermont and grew up watching the people of the community. I live in Florida, but my heart and soul is still in that small town. There will be many more The Falls small town mysteries to come.

     Above all, I have to write. It is the way I express what's inside me, what I feel and a way for me to leave a part of me still here when I'm gone. The characters, their words, their actions, are all bits and pieces of my traditions. They are part of my heritage. Like the storytellers of old.

How does my writing process work?

     I write faithfully every morning unless we're traveling or have an appointment. Many writers outline, use notecards or write a summary to guide them through the process. I use my characters and a simple event or accident to guide me. Once I get started, the characters come to life and weave the story. For that's what I am, at the heart of it all. I'm a storyteller. I do have a box crammed full of 3x5 cards where I wrote down each character and a little bit about them. I have sticky notes to rem end me of scenes or things I want to remember as i go along. I also have a huge map of West Sugar Shack Falls on a trifold display to remind me where things are and who is at which business or home. I use Wikipedia for research. It's direct, concise and to the point. Am I organized? I always have been. But not to the point of outlining. Outlining, for me, wouldn't allow for the chance encounter, the road less taken, the change in direction that my characters so seem to love.

     I edit every afternoon. I am staring to get to the point where I will begin asking for Beta Readers of my stories. Which for me is a major concession. I've always been independent and a bit stubborn. (Scottish heritage, so it should be no surprise!) Up until now I have done it all myself. Written, edited, created the covers and published the ebooks. That will change somewhat as I branch out and publish more traditionally. A good friend, Kate Eileen Shannon, has been patiently trying to nudge me in the right directions. Thank you Kate.

     I have recently changed to use a 27" iMac and write with Word. I've used a number of computers over the years and loved WordPerfect for a long time, but Word is the standard now and just easier to deal with when formatting to publish. I can still remember typing my short stories (I used to write horror and suspense) on an IBM Selectric. What fun!

Keep on Hopping!

     Thanks for reading. All of us truly appreciate it. Be sure to check out Susan Holmes post from last week (http://dogmysteries.com). Also, check out AJ Waines and Alyssa Maxwell March 17th! Keep on reading!

I am a Storyteller…

(This is a copy of the article I wrote for Kate Eileen Shannon's March 5th blog,  http://kateeileenshannon.com/2014/03/05/join-me-and-meet-a-storyteller/ . Many thanks to Kate for her hospitality, kindness and friendship.) Please check out Kate's blog for this and a great deal more!

First, I must say that it’s a real pleasure to be back here with Kate Eileen Shannon once again. I truly appreciate her never-ending expertise, wide ranging skills and friendship.  This Irish Colleen has pointed this old Scotsman in the right direction more times than I can count. My humble thanks, Kate, always.

I’ve been a storyteller ever since I was seven or eight. My head has always had so many thoughts, ideas and worlds and my imagination has always asked the age-old wonderings: What if! Why not! and tried to fit them magnificently into so countless Once upon a times.

When I was a kid, hiding away upstairs in my room, I would draw courageous heroes and beautiful, brave heroines, powerful dragons and unspeakable monsters, and then create stories where they would fight great battles, solve unsolvable puzzles and then all live happily ever after. Well, perhaps not the monsters. But I hid my stories away, rather self-conscious and embarrassed to share them with my family or friends. Not because I would have been laughed at, but because I truly wasn’t ready to share them yet.

My father, bless him, made me a tree swing in our backyard. The rope went up so far into the tree that I swore at times it was like Jack’s magic beanstalk…you couldn’t see the top because of the clouds. Every day I would go out and swing as high as I could, glancing out eagerly (and with just a bit of tantalizing fright) over the top of our roof, feeling the warmth of the sun and the wind whistling around me and I would imagine soaring on dragon back out across the skies of some vast dessert.

At night, when I went outside and watched the lights from the fireflies rushing randomly to and fro in the velvet darkness, I would create tales of the dark that scared the living dickens right out of me. Their flashing lights would become the eyes of terrifying creatures and the darkness would become filled with the night sounds of rural Vermont. Owls hooted softly, dragonflies and insects buzzed, a dog barked a mile away and a lonely hungry howl would make me shiver. Then I would creep back toward the warm lights from our house and safely envision a realm of creatures of the night as I peered out wide-eyed into the gloom.

When I was a teenager, I began writing those stories down as short stories. I happened to be a quiet kid, so I still didn’t share them. Those stories were special to me. They were mine and I was very protective of them. I wrote and rewrote those stories on yellow pads in pencil so I could back and correct them. As I got older, I began to type them up on an old manual typewriter, frustrating myself over and over again, my fingers almost permanently stained from black typewriter ribbon and the delightful, and ill-advised erasing solutions of the day.

But I was still a storyteller, more than ever. The stories were now on paper as well as in my thoughts and mind, that’s all. So I typed and wrote and created worlds, fought titanic battles, soared on dragons and lived happily ever after. I would write hunched over by flashlight in my bed at night when my parents thought I was asleep. I would write when I was supposed to be doing homework. I would skip breakfast and write. At school, when Mr. McGinty’s English Literature class became particularly boring, I would secretly write stories in my notebook, at least until the other kids around me began wondering what I was doing and tried to catch a glimpse. Then I would hastily shut my notebook, zip it tight and sit listening to McGinty’s boring lecture, my face redder than a baby’s bare bottom after three hours on the beach in August.

As I moved on to the hallowed halls of university, I continued to write. By now I had boxes filled with stories that no one but I had ever seen or read. Most of my stories back then dabbled in horror, suspense and fantasy. I tentatively sent a few stories here and there out to publishers and magazines. At times I would receive a written note telling me that my stories were good, just needed more polish or that they just didn’t have a place for them at the moment. Some editors actually took the time to tell me what they liked and what I needed to improve upon. I treasured those letters. I would keep them and read them over and over again, taking every word to heart. And when I felt the lowest, convinced that my humble stories would never find the light of day, never have readers to enjoy them, I would take those letters out and reread them over once again.

Life happened.  Two marriages, five children, eight grandkids and three great-grandkids magically appeared and blossomed. Forty years in education in Vermont and New Mexico went by, twenty-nine as a principal. My days were filled with solving problems, making my staff and the kids’ parents feel good about themselves and what they were doing with kids, cheering students on and being “Dad” to thousands of kids and adults. I worked twelve hours a day and spent as much time as possible after that with my family. Even then, I would write Dragonrider fantasy novels late at night. I was so tired that at times I would nod off sitting up typing into the computer. But I still wrote. I truly believe that the dragon rider fantasies allowed me to shuck off the cares and issues of each day at school and permitted my imagination to soar free and unfettered, once again on dragon back.

Now, I am retired. I write small town mysteries (The Falls small town mystery series) and Dragonrider fantasies (the Dragon World series). I have finally sent my stories out into the world, by self-publishing them through KDP on Amazon. I am delighted to finally be sharing those worlds, those dreams and visions with others. After publishing twenty-one of my books on Amazon in the past three years, however, I am still, at heart, a storyteller. I weave stories, pure and simple. I hope that you get a chance to read some them. It would make this old Scottish heart smile.

May the dragons watch over you all…