R.R. Virdi's Blog
March 18, 2019
Star Shepherd BLOG HOP TOUR.
Welcome to the Star Shepherd BLOG HOP TOUR.
Please get yourself comfortable as we take a daily tour through these fabulous blogs. Each blog you visit will entertain you with exclusive articles and excerpts from this fantastic new book. Get an insight into the character’s head with interviews and profile images. Then hunt down the hidden word that will get you one step closer to the $10 Amazon Gift Card.
You are here to celebrate the release of Star Shepard, book one of the space western series, Shepherd of Light, by R.R.Virdi.
Star Shepherd knows a raw deal when he sees one. And he’s got the worst one in the galaxy: to deliver a mysterious package to a rebellion to change the scales of power in favor of the common man. As he meets with an old friend to seek much-needed help, he draws the attention of a genocidal admiral willing to destroy entire worlds if it means catching Star Shepherd.
Will Star survive the chase and bring hope to the rebellion, or deliver a gift into the hands of a worse power, tipping the galaxy into further chaos?
Author interview
How old were you when you first discovered your love for writing?
18 years old over summer break before starting college. That was either the right age, early (by some people’s measure), or not early enough for me on some days. There are moments I wish I’d learned of it earlier, but I think that’s normal for a lot of people who’ve found their passion.
Why do you write the genre of books that you write?
Passion. Those ideas excite me, and as a pantser, I have to know how they’ll turn out. I only ever see/have glimpses of the stories and I need to see how they’ll play out.
Is there anyone who influences your writing?
Jim Butcher, Neil Gaiman, Patrick Rothfuss, if you mean for technique, stories, and inspiration.
Can you tell us about your new release?
Star Shepherd came out of a few things: the series title first (Shepherd of Light) came to me a while back and I just had a vague but exciting concept. My publisher for this Business is someone I care about and have known for a while and I promised them a sci-fi title one day. This seemed like the perfect fit once I figured out WHAT this was going to be. I decided on a space western because I loved the idea and challenge of creating one that was fun, familiar with touches on the ones I loved (Firefly/Cowboy Bebop) without being a carbon copy of them. Star Shepherd hits all those notes to me. It’s a fun, fast, character-driven space western with a slowly growing cast you’ll come to love.
Don’t forget to visit all the blogs and collect the 10 hidden words for your chance to win a $10 Amazon Gift Card.
Send your completed word list to kkantasauthorassist@gmail.com
Tuesday 19th – https://rrvirdi.com
Wednesday 20th –http://indiescififantasy.com
Thursday 21st – https://readcommendations.com
Friday 22nd – https://mmcquillen44.wixsite.com/themadhouse
Saturday 23rd – https://www.authorerikamszabo.com/my-thinking-board
Sunday 24th – https://rainne15.wordpress.com
Monday 25th – https://www.maryrwoldering.com
Tuesday 26th – https://karensbookbuzz.wordpress.com
Wednesday 27th – https://katerauner.wordpress.com/
Thursday 28th – https://celthric.com
Blog Hop Tour organized by Author Assist
Sponsored by Bolide Publishing Limited
October 31, 2017
Grave Dealings chapter 2. Who wants a bite?
A Case File From: The Grave Report
R.R. Virdi
Kindle Edition
Copyright R.R. Virdi 2017
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Chapter Two
Moving through the streets of Queens isn’t difficult on its own, but when you’re forced to rubberneck and take odd paths, it adds up. I veered down an ill-maintained sidewalk. The cracked concrete looked like a dumping ground for adolescent trash. Torn pages from adult magazines and fast food wrappers whisked down the street with the breeze.
Nobody followed me, but the feeling I was being stalked lingered, refusing to let go.
Whoever was trailing me was good.
I sped up and rounded the corner, doubling my pace until it became a jog. A cathedral came into view. It was a simple thing of brick, capped with a white tower. Much of the color had faded with age and the elements. I paused at the double doors and glanced over my shoulder one last time.
Nothing.
The pressure in my jaw built as my teeth ground. I cupped a hand to the side of my face. “You suck salty moose wang!”
There was no reply.
Figures.
I scowled and pushed my way inside. The interior was the opposite of its outside. Beautifully crafted pews of dark cherry filled the floor. Columns of white wrapped with intricate filigrees of brass. The ceiling was painted to resemble a velvet sky strung with stars. It could’ve been pulled from a night in the African savannah.
I moved towards the front, keeping my eyes open for anyone else. The place seemed deserted. I whistled. “Candy-gram for blonde and geekily handsome!”
Someone cleared their throat, prompting me to turn.
He sat several pews back with his legs crossed. The man was a dead ringer of what I’d called out for. Church’s looks were the definition of geek chic. He eyed me and arched a brow.
“Uh, I woke up underwater—with my hands tied, by the way. Thanks for that.”
“I don’t choose the circumstances, Vincent. You know this.”
“I have the feeling you have a lot more control than you’re letting on, Blondilocks.” I eyed him hard.
He sighed and pulled his designer glasses from his face. The dark frames stood out against his wavy, shoulder-length hair. Church pulled a cloth from his pocket and polished the lens without taking his eyes off me. It was like gazing into frozen azure waters. A heck of a stare.
I fought not to blink.
The edges of his mouth quirked like he was fighting not to smile. “Have you changed your mind about punching me?”
I blinked. “The feeling’s coming back.” My fingers dug into my palm as my fist tightened.
Church took note and eyed me. “Violence isn’t always the answer.”
I snorted. “Tell that to the freak who jumped me on my way over here.”
He thumbed shut the journal on his lap and clasped his hands over it. “I’m not surprised.”
“Really? I am. I just got this meat suit.” I hooked a thumb to my chest. “How am I already pissing people off?”
Church folded his lips and stood. “Vincent, I am always surprised by your ability to irritate others. In that regard, you have no equal. I’m sure you found a way.” His eyes shone with amusement.
“Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Please don’t. I’m not trying to encourage you.”
I rubbed the back of my neck and looked past Church. Two journals sat on the pew; a rich burgundy atop a saddle brown. They belonged to me. One helped me keep my memories straight between all the body bouncing I do. The other was a compendium of every bit of mythological lore I’d come across over my cases. It was the only real tool I had. I nodded at them.
Church inclined his head and fetched both. He presented them to me like they were a gift. “Wait here.” He moved towards the altar.
“Um, okay.” I stood rooted to the spot and blinked. That was new.
Church vanished from sight and returned just as quickly. He carried a set of folded clothing atop his hands.
“Aw, shucks, you shouldn’t have. I’m only drenched.” I placed my journals on a nearby pew.
He raised a brow. “Technically, you are damp. Most of the water dried during your trek here.” Church placed the clothing on a pew next to me.
I scowled and snatched up what looked like a perfect replica of the clothes I wore. Well, they were dry at least. I hooked my index finger within the collar of my shirt and pulled. Fabric stretched. Strings tore the next second sending buttons bouncing onto the floor. I tossed the shirt aside with a callous flick of my wrist. My pants fell to my feet after I kicked off my shoes.
Church’s eyes went wide, and he turned away. “Vincent, I don’t think it’s wholly appropriate to strip in a place…” He gestured to our surroundings.
I waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever. It’s not my body. Don’t suppose you can tell me what killed this stiff and save me some time?”
Church’s back was fully to me now. “You know I can’t.”
I pulled off the guy’s briefs and slipped into the new clothes mechanically. My muscles loosened in response to the first touch of the shirt around my chest. It was like it had come out of the dryer. The pants were the same. “Toasty. Thanks.”
“Of course.” Church tilted his head.
“You can look, dude. I’m dressed enough.” I pulled on the socks and slid into the replacement sneakers.
He turned and faced me. “You have questions on your mind.”
“Yeah, I do. I’ve got a feelin’ you know what I’m going to ask.”
Church nodded. “Ask anyway.”
“I’ll ask the ones that matter, how’s that? I know how you’ll answer the others.”
He gave me a paper-thin smile.
“How is Lizzie?”
“She is doing well in the care of her grandmother. Elizabeth still thinks about you, Vincent. You had quite the effect on her.”
I shrugged.
“You saved her and her sister. She’s at home with someone who cares about her because of you.”
I grinned. It was good to hear. Lizzie was a little girl I’d met on one of my cases. Pretty normal, except for the fact she had the peculiar ability to see and speak to ghosts. Kids, right? They’re weird.
Church cleared his throat. “That’s not the only question on your mind.”
I shook my head. My throat seemed too tight, refusing to let me voice my question. “How’s Ortiz?”
He brushed a lock of hair away from his eyes.
“Church?”
He remained silent and looked away.
“How’s Ortiz?” My heart felt like I’d gone another round with the Night Runner.
“I can’t answer that.” His voice sounded like he had swallowed a handful of sawdust. I could hear the desire mixed in with restraint. He wanted to tell me.
I arched a brow. “Let me guess: These weird rules—the ones you can’t tell me about—are keeping you from answering?”
He nodded.
“Your boss is an ass, no offense.”
Church blinked, and his face twisted like he was caught between wanting to laugh and remaining poised. “Vincent”—his lips twitched—“I don’t think you can say that and mean it without offense.”
I smiled.
He held out his hand. “We’ve spent enough time talking. You have work to do.”
I sighed. “Thanks, Mom.” I pulled on the cuff of my shirt, rolling the sleeve back to my elbow.
Church grabbed my forearm. The man had a hydraulic grip. Heat radiated over the inner part of my arm and intensified. It felt like I had touched my skin to a stove.
I shut my eyes. My teeth slid over each other as I grimaced through the pain. It went quickly. “Ow.”
Church removed his hand.
There was a patch of reddened skin. A black number fifty-seven sat in the middle. The magical tattoo would decrease in number by the hour until I found the thing responsible for murdering the previous owner of the body I inhabited. I glanced at it, then Church. “Feeling generous?”
“You’ll need the time.” He paused, and his mouth pulled to one corner. “And luck.”
The desire to bury my fist in his face returned. But I’m a mature adult. I reined it in and gave him the finger.
He sighed.
I gave him a look. “Don’t suppose you could give me something to go on here? Not even a teensy clue?”
Silence.
“Give me something work with, Church.”
“I did.” He pointed to the journals, then my tattoo. “And time is passing.”
I bent at my waist and looked down as I recovered my journals. “Fine.” When I looked up, Church had vanished. I exhaled through my nose. “Yeah, you’re a regular Harry Blackstone, congrats.” The smaller burgundy journal slipped from atop the stack. Its corner struck my palm as I fumbled for it. The collection of memories hit the ground at an angle. A plastic card slipped out.
I bent and scooped up the journal and card. A picture of a man that could have been used on a Korean travel brochure stared back at me. Cognac eyes and tousled black hair with a hint of a tan. Good lookin’ guy. I smiled at the driver’s license and held it towards the ceiling. “Smartass.” I had a feeling Church heard me wherever he was. The man always seemed to know.
I tucked the journals under an arm and turned my attention to the piece of plastic. My index finger bounced off the card as my fingernail struck the section with his information. I burned the name and address into the back of my mind. “Let’s go find out who you really are, Mr. Kim. And…what the hell offed you.”
Chapter Three
The walk to Daniel Kim’s apartment complex took longer than I’d have liked. I had taken the longest route I could. I couldn’t shake the feeling that my unseen tail nipped at my heels the entire trip. It felt like a pair of screws had drilled their way through the back of my skull. Whoever was keeping tabs on me was good, and annoying. Their presence had cost me.
I’d lost an hour. Fifty-six left.
The apartment complex was unremarkable. Three stories of brick with windows trimmed in white paneling. Sturdy and, by the looks of things, affordable. I walked up three concrete steps and stopped at the door. The glass was clean enough to offer me a hint of a reflection. It wasn’t much, but with the street lamps behind me, it gave me a decent view over my shoulder.
Nobody sensible would roam the streets this time of night. The only thing that passed by was a 90s sedan with dimmed headlights that barely illuminated ten feet before it. Still, the unshakable feeling someone was watching didn’t subside.
Dull pressure radiated around my gums as my teeth ground. My fingers dug into the meat of my palm. I balled my fist tighter before releasing the tension. A series of gentle breaths through my nose and I was calm. I raised a fist over my head, hoping my stalker would see it. A smile spread across my face as I extended a single finger.
They got the message.
I pulled the door open and stepped inside. The white tile was in serious need of polishing. I crossed over to the carpeted staircase and stopped. A burgundy plaque, with tenant names and apartment numbers, hung on the wall. My finger trailed across the list horizontally until I found what I was looking for. I stayed an extra minute to commit the names of his neighbors to memory. It’s hard working a case when you’re stumbling over who’s who.
Nodding to myself, I grabbed the railing and hurtled up the stairs to the second floor. I passed doors the color of rustic oak as I searched for Daniel’s apartment. I found it halfway down the hall. My lips folded under my teeth as a realization hit me.
“Urfle, murfle, gruhl.” The base of my fist ricocheted off the wooden door. It vibrated where I had struck it. It did little good to open it. I nursed the temptation to drive my heel into the spot just above the doorknob. If I did it right, I could force the sucker open. I resisted the urge. It didn’t seem like a good idea starting off my case by damaging the victim’s home and pissing off the building’s superintendent.
A click sounded behind me. I turned to the source. The door opposite pulled back, and a young, dark-skinned male blinked at me, then at the door.
“Locked out, Daniel?” He scratched the side of his head and offered me a lopsided smile.
I growled.
The scrawny kid recoiled. He looked like he was in his mid-twenties and the definition of an information technology geek. The guy had a shaved head, and his rectangular glasses sat askew on the bridge of his nose. The only thing he had going for him was his height, standing a little over six feet.
I raised a hand as a way of apology. “Yeah, sorry, rough night.”
He looked me over and nodded. “Sounds like it if you’re coming in this late. Working overtime at the gallery?” He arched a brow.
I nodded. It was a nice bit of information I wouldn’t need to fish for, and it made sense. Long Island City was home to a fair bunch of artists. I didn’t know how it was useful, yet. At least I had another stop after I checked out his place. As soon as I figured out how to get into it. I let one of my hands rest on the knob.
A disorienting wave rolled through my brain. It was like syrup crashed down and congealed within my skull.
Daniel’s foot bounced off the door and he swore. He jostled the knob in frustration. His hands burrowed into his pockets, fishing for a key he didn’t have. He placed his back against the door and crossed his legs. The man shut his eyes and thought for a moment.
The vision snapped out of clarity only to be replaced by another. I watched Daniel cross over the concrete roof to an ill-maintained looking ventilation system. His fingers closed around the poorly fastened grate, and he pried it loose. Daniel ran a hand over the side. Something rippled against his fingertips and clung to the skin. It felt like tape. One of his fingers came across a sliver of metal that was cool to the touch. He closed his hand around it and pulled.
The memory faded, and I blinked several times as I readjusted.
My neighbor eyed me sideways. “You…okay, Daniel? You look like you’ve had a four-oh-four error in your head.”
I blinked again.
“You know, error, broken page?”
I stared.
“Like your mind went blank—crashed.”
“Oh.” I nodded. “Yeah, sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
He nodded to himself. “Fair enough. You want me to call the super and see if he can get you into your place?”
I shook my head. “No, thanks. I’ve got it. I know where I left my key.” I took a step towards the stairs.
“Wait. You coming to movie night tomorrow, or, um, I guess tonight—shit. What time is it?”
I stopped. “Movie night?”
“Yeah, you know, at Ashton’s place?” He pointed to a door several apartments down from mine. “The gang gets together, and we watch a movie…like the name suggests.”
I bowed my head. “Sure, yeah, um, count me in.”
He looked at me like I was strange then yawned. “Cool, cool.”
“Sorry for waking you.” I turned to move towards the staircase.
“No worries, was already up troubleshooting stuff for clients. Perks of the home IT gig.”
I ignored him and raced forwards. My legs hammered over the stairs as I made my way to the roof. I flung open the door and rushed to the grate. My journals came to rest near the ventilation shaft as I placed them down. I closed my fingers around the edges like Daniel had, and pulled. The grate resisted. Rolling my shoulders, I placed my heels against on framework and leaned back. The metal pulled free. My hand slid against the inside.
The same coolness filled the tips of my fingers as I brushed the key. I gripped and wrenched it free. Ribbons of clear tape tagged along.
Daniel may have been absentminded if he needed a spare, but he was clever enough to hide it well. I pursed my lips and hoped he wasn’t too clever. It could have been a contributing factor to his death.
I discarded the tape and stuffed the key into my pocket. The grate fought me as I tried to realign it on its brackets. I managed to get it to stay in place, albeit a bit crooked. A quick look around reassured me no one was nearby. My foot lashed out. Weak metal groaned as the grate warped and fell into alignment. It’d be a pain to remove in the future, but it wasn’t like Daniel was going to use it again.
The thought sent a numbing cement through my gut that solidified behind my navel. It’s something that never fails to get you. The idea that I’m running around in what used to be someone else’s body. Someone who had a life, one taken by the paranormal. Like mine had been. All I could do was gank whatever killed them and offer that person some semblance of justice. Or vengeance.
My fingernails dug deep into my palm. The feeling pulled me from my train of thought. I recovered my journals and moved towards the door, shutting it without looking as I headed down the stairs.
I approached his door and unlocked it. My hand closed around the knob, and I took a breath before opening it. The muscles along my spine tensed.
Daniel’s body may have ended up in the water, but when it comes to the paranormal, nothing is that simple.
I pushed the door open and surged inside. I expected a fight. Instead, I walked into what looked like the aftermath of one.
Daniel’s apartment looked like he’d left his windows open during a tornado. A bleak, gray velour sofa lay on its back in the middle of the room. A cheap lamp sat next to it, the cord ripped from a nearby socket. Its shade lay flattened under a small stand. A variety of art-related books littered the place.
I let out a low whistle as I flung the door shut. The television was barely hanging on the wall from its mount; only one of the brackets remained intact at a corner. I stepped over various utensils, art supplies, and a broken laptop.
Something had definitely targeted Daniel here before deciding he needed to work on his breaststroke.
I moved around with caution, partly out of respect. As I stepped further inside, I shut my eyes and nearly pinched my nose shut. Someone had gone overboard with the pine freshener. It was thick enough to gag a person. I could almost taste it.
I pulled the shirt collar over my nose as I moved towards the open kitchen in the far corner. Nothing stood out enough to jog my knowledge of the paranormal. The disarray looked like a burglary gone wrong rather than anything involving a monster. I scanned the room one last time before moving on.
The small bathroom on the other side appeared untouched. Two doors remained. One ahead, and one to my right. Both were shut.
If anything was lurking around his place, those would be the last places for them to hide. Opening the wrong door would signal them and lead me into a world of trouble.
Everything you do leads to trouble. I frowned. It was true however.
I held my breath and placed a hand on the doorknob to my right. Please let room number one be free of nasties. In one swift movement, I turned the knob, leaned in with my shoulder and barreled through. I stopped as suddenly as I’d started. My arms went to my side, spinning like pinwheels to help keep me from tumbling over.
The room was fashioned into an artist’s workspace. Supplies littered the floor in groupings that made no sense to me. An easel to the far right boasted an unfinished drawing done in charcoal pencil. Streetlights filtered through the window and cast an eerie amber glow over the work. My fingers trailed over the webbing of a short hammock strung across the left wall.
A closed portfolio, larger than any suitcase I’d ever seen, sat under the hammock. A simple table stood crammed against the far wall. Countless other supplies littered its surface, ranging from pencils to brushes and pastels. Despite the mess, the room seemed like nobody but Daniel had ransacked it.
I ignored the mess and approached the easel. The closer I looked at it, the stranger the image appeared. It was a disorienting blur of shapes. An unfinished man tightly held a woman of fierce beauty. Hair fell past her shoulders, and she had full lips. Like the man, the rest of her detail was lacking. A figure hung around the corner of a street that vaguely resembled the road outside. The stranger had a shock of frizzy, thick hair that stood out as the most prominent detail.
My eyes trailed over the piece, fixating on the image above the people. It dominated the remaining space. A pair of orbs—the only color on the canvas—contrasted the monochromatic work. Violent red anything is never a good sign. There was no face to frame what looked like eyes, and a series of lines spread out from them. They connected at the edges and littered the inside of the odd, jagged shapes on either end. It looked like spines and a membrane.
I blinked and bit my lip. I couldn’t recall any creature with those traits. My heart sped up as I stepped closer. It was probably taboo, but I reached for the corner and tugged on the piece. It fought back, flexing and folding as I pulled on it. I gave it another yank, and the sound of tearing paper filled my ears. The drawing pad was blank underneath.
I flipped open the journal containing my collection of mythological lore and folded the piece of art into it. This likely wasn’t the only piece of art on the pad. I followed the hunch and slipped an index finger under the paper folded over the top of the easel. With a simple flick, I sent the next work tumbling towards me.
“Well, damn.” Something was clearly nipping at Daniel’s heels before he passed. It was detailed work of something that looked like an old-fashioned drawing of a devil crossed with a bat. I blinked, not knowing what to make of it. The next page left me just as clueless. A work of all black streaked with gray lines. It looked like massive wings. A pair of white eyes hovered between them. It was a stylized piece, whatever it was.
Great, looks like Daniel was haunted by freakin’ Batman.
“Third time’s the charm.” I reached out and flipped over the next sheet. Hideous was an understatement. The thing looked like a cross between a gibbon and a bat. A claw-like hand covered in fur reached out from the page to give the illusion it would grab me. I shook my head then paused. Something caught my eye within the work. There were lines—faint—within the monster.
Another face. One with a shock of thick, frizzy hair. I squinted and leaned closer, making out a speckle of dots on either side. The rest of drawing was difficult to make out.
None of this made any sense. I tore the other sheets free and stuffed them into my journal. I’d go over them later.
I backpedaled until I reached the door, turning and giving the room one last look. There wasn’t anything else to take away from it. No one said my cases were easy. I sighed and shut the door. Only Daniel’s bedroom remained.
I covered the distance in a couple of long strides. The door was cracked open just enough for me to slip my pinky into the space. I gave it a gentle push. Daniel’s bedroom was a stark contrast to the rest of his home. Simple, orderly, and clean. Every mother’s dream.
My eyes trailed over the room from left to right. The dresser and small television were coated in a thin layer of dust. More artwork dotted the walls. They were professional and held within slender, black frames. A warm heat, like fresh-out-of-the-laundry clothes, flared in my chest. Daniel favored those pieces. One caught my eye.
It was rough in comparison, but not bad by any means. A man and woman with their backs turned to the viewer. They held hands over what looked like the roof of Daniel’s apartment. The scenery seemed a tad too fantastical, from the pink and vermilion-tinged sky, to the white clouds that seemed to carry a hint of turquoise. It was almost too colorful.
A lance of pain shot through my skull. A streak of light followed, and my vision blurred. Something tugged at my heart at seeing that piece, like it was strung with invisible weights threatening to pull it to the floor. The back of my throat dried. Whoever it belonged to must have been close to Daniel. I felt like I’d been hit by an emotional freight truck. I shook my head clear and separated Daniel’s thoughts and feelings from my own.
Focusing on the case was my best bet to keep my borrowed head in check. I shut my eyes and inhaled. Something tickled my nostrils. I blinked and took a step back. The smell was of burnt oranges. I looked at the floor and a hint of Daniel’s face stared back at me in reflection. It was some wood polish to give off that shine and odor. I cleared my throat and pushed the smell from my mind. My attention turned to the bed.
It was the only thing out of order. The sheets looked like he had suffered through one hell of a nightmare under them. I stepped closer and gravitated towards sections of the sheets that were darker than the others. Burnt citrus wasn’t the only odor in the room. Sweat—barely noticeable, but it was there. I shut my eyes tight and balled my fists. Things weren’t adding up.
The drawings pointed to a slew of different figures; some looked like combinations of animals. Daniel’s home had been ransacked. That was a clear sign of…something. He ended up in a fatal underwater routine. Something kept him from his eight hours of beauty sleep. And he had poor taste in floor polish.
My fist tightened until my knuckles ached. I took another series of breaths. “Calm down. Take it slow. Take it all in.” I repeated the mantra until the muscles in my hand loosened. My gaze fell over the nightstand.
I made my way over to it and fumbled under the lampshade for the switch. Weak light flickered into life and gave me a better view. I pulled open the first drawer. It was like looking inside a recycling bin filled with paper. Various letters and envelopes lay atop one another without any organization. I sifted through them. A few of them smelled like cheap perfume, the sort that was more of a chemical assault than anything pleasing. I ignored them.
Most of the papers were notices of late payments. I thumbed through them until they were replaced by utility bills and statements. His art gallery’s income had taken a sudden turn-around to do well.
I had seen shifts of fortune like this before. Someone’s luck and finances going from dismal to successful, like a wish come true. Only, that wish had a price.
They always do.
I rummaged through the letters until I found one with the information I needed. The address was another long walk away. I frowned. If this kept up, my timeline would dwindle to nothing simply from walking.
Note to self: Ask Church for a car. If Daddy doesn’t buy you one for your birthday, steal one.
I blinked.
Keys, you idiot!
I pressed my hips against the drawer and shoved it shut. The act of thinking about Daniel’s belongings triggered another flash. A painless one, thankfully.
I followed the vision and sank to my knees. My index finger hooked around the handle, and I pulled on the lowest drawer. It opened. I found a wallet made from black faux leather and one of those overly expensive smartphones. A ring of keys sat next to the wallet. Bright colors caught my eye. Each of the keys had a thumbnail-sized strip of electrical tape stuck to it. A stack of art-related magazines served as a bed for the items on top.
I pursed my lips as I snatched the items. The tape was a good way to keep track of what key did what. I flipped the wallet open, sliding his license into a flap. The cell phone was a good place to dig.
I gave it a sideways look. Technology and I don’t always get along. I pressed my thumb to the only visible button. The screen flared to life and prompted me for a password.
“Fuck.” Somehow, I didn’t think Daniel’s phone would unlock from profanity. I shut my eyes and tried to clear my mind.
The subconscious is an amazing thing. Sometimes you simply need to turn everything off and just trust yourself. If only it were that easy.
I tapped the screen without thought, hoping Daniel’s body memorized the repetitive action of keying it in. No luck. My grip tightened, and I felt the plastic and aluminum shell threaten to warp. I sighed and loosened my hold. One last try couldn’t hurt. My index finger bounced over the screen.
A warning message appeared, alerting me that if I kept it up, I’d be locked out.
I glared at the phone and wondered if it would unlock after impacting a brick wall. A growl escaped my throat, and I stuffed the phone into one of my pockets. The wallet followed along with the keys.
“Man, I hope one of these is to a car.” I clung to them and headed to leave, pausing near the door. A thin coat-rack stood there; a lone windbreaker hung from it. I snatched it up, slipping into it. It had mesh pockets large enough to stow my journals. I did so and left the room.
There was no point in cleaning up Daniel’s home on the way out. The dead don’t care much for how their place looks. I lowered my head, giving the apartment a final look. “I dunno if you can hear me where you are, Daniel, but I’m going to gank this sucker.” I looked up to the ceiling, hoping my words reached him and stepped out of his apartment. The door thudded shut.
I headed down the hall and the stairs. The keys jingled as I bounced them in my palm. As I neared the exit of the complex, I grumbled to myself. No memory passed through my noggin of Daniel owning a car. My teeth ground. I opened the door and scanned the street. None of the vehicles lining the curb triggered a thought in my host body.
“Figures.” My shoulders sank as I sighed. “Guess I’m hoofing it.”
I recalled the address to his studio. An electric charge went through the muscles in my back causing me to shake. The last time I had visited someone’s workplace in New York, I had ended up in a fight with one heck of a monster.
I hit the street hard. A single thought crossed my mind as my feet pounded against concrete.
I really hope there’s no monster lurking around your studio, pal.
Hope you enjoyed the sneak peek at the chapter reveal of chapter two and three from Grave Dealings! Book three is coming soon.
October 26, 2017
Grave Dealings Chapter One peek!
A Case File From: The Grave Report
R.R. Virdi
Kindle Edition
Copyright R.R. Virdi 2017
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
To Tribe, for always having my back and helping me overcome the hardest things in life.
Chapter One
Waking up in someone else’s dead body isn’t for chumps.
I exhaled water. Bubbles formed in front of me, and the world blurred like my eyes were smeared with dark jelly. My heart beat a drum solo. It took me a moment to realize what was happening. Panic set in, and I couldn’t draw breath. I thrashed on instinct, but the binding around my wrists and ankles kept me from moving any direction but down.
Drowning sucks.
I shut my eyes and ignored my body’s desperate urges. My lungs felt like balloons close to bursting, and a huff of air filtered out of my nostrils as the pressure in my chest built.
Thinking is hard when you’re low on oxygen. My mind raced, dredging up any useful information from my prior cases. Clarity came seconds later followed by a solution. I needed to resituate my body.
My hands were bound behind my back, so I tucked my knees to my chest. Another plume of bubbles left my nostrils. My arms came under and upwards as I brought them in front of me. I cupped my hands together, facing them downwards. My legs kicked like pistons. My hands followed. The act propelled me up. It wasn’t enough. I repeated the action.
A murky film of water swayed above me. It was like looking at plastic wrap splashed in motor oil. I pumped my legs and paddled like a dog. There was a moment of resistance as I reached the surface. The water fought to pull me under. I exhaled fully and kicked one last time.
I broke the surface. Air rushed to fill the vacuum in my lungs, but relief was short-lived. An invisible cord tugged around my waist and legs. I leaned back and took another breath. Staying afloat was easy. Finding and getting to shore was another matter.
I shut my eyes, giving thanks I’d once inhabited the body of a Navy Seal. Drownproofing came with the skill set I managed to retain in my memories. I shifted my torso and pulled with my shoulders. My body rolled. I opened my eyes and was rewarded with a pier hemmed in sapphire lights. A shore, more rock than sand, hugged its right.
Good enough for me.
I inhaled again before lowering my head. My body sank below the surface and I scrunched like an inchworm. The tugging returned, threatening to pull me below. I kicked behind me and undulated like a dolphin. Several yards had passed before I broke through the surface again. I repeated the process. My body rolled, and the water slipped below my back as I drifted.
The sky greeted me as an unmarred canvas of black. I didn’t have time to stargaze. With another twist, I was back underwater. I undulated and swam as best as my predicament allowed. A fire built in my body and my muscles felt like they were lined with lead. I ignored it.
The depth decreased. I struggled to find balance as my feet skidded against a floor of loose sand. Wading through the shallow water was a chore with my ankles fastened together.
A flash of color at the edge of my vision prompted me to look up.
A young woman came to a stop twenty feet from the shoreline. She was a walking advertisement for a jogging catalog, from her athletic apparel to her appearance. Her eyes widened, and her mouth moved without words.
I doubled over, placing my palms on my knees. “Nice night for a swim.”
She stared at my wrists.
“Oh, these?” I held up my hands. The silver tape took on an eerie blue tinge under the nearby pier lights. “It was a really kinky swim?”
Her head shook before she turned and ran off in the opposite direction.
“Oh, good. Now I can collapse in peace.” I lowered myself to the rocky bed and rested my head on a large stone. It was nice.
I stared at the sky. If there were any stars, they were drowned out by swatches of warm gold and cool silvery lights coming from the concrete monoliths behind the poor excuse of a beach. A laser-like red light blazed in the corner of my vision, and I turned to the source.
A neon sign looped over a section of the pier. I recognized it and smiled. New York had a heck of a way of welcoming me back. My smile slipped as I thought of my recent cases in the state.
Cases. Right, work. The train of thought galvanized me. Stones prodded and scraped against my clothes as I rolled over. A breeze wafted by. My muscles tightened and shuddered. I gave silent thanks for the agreeable temperature. Hypothermia isn’t fun.
My fingers brushed over small rocks, and I hissed as my thumb trailed over a sharp edge. It was a task, fumbling with the rock and my quivering muscles, but I managed to get a grip on it. I thumbed the stone over and lined its edge against the bindings.
The thing with duct tape is the more you apply, the more it acts like a single piece. It’s strong. It’s also easier to break than several loose layers of the stuff. My shoulders strained as I pulled my hands away from each other. The tape resisted but stretched a bit. I pulled again. A breath of exertion left my lungs. Satisfied that I had stretched it as much as I could, I brought the sharp rock to it and filed. The tape’s edge bowed and flitted away from the rock, but it refused to tear.
I released a string of obscenities and kept at it. A millimeter-long notch appeared on one side. It wasn’t much to work with. I scored another incision on the side closest to my body. The edge cut deeper until it only served to bend and twist the tape rather than tear it. I discarded the rock and pulled my knees to my chest. My arms went around them, and I jerked my wrists towards my center. The tape impacted my knees, refusing to let my hands come any closer. The compromised bindings gave and tore free. I peeled the scraps from my skin, wincing as the adhesives pulled at me.
Freeing my legs was easier. I took the point of the rock and jabbed like a savage until the tape was peppered with holes. The stone cut through shredded restraints.
“Okay, that sucked.” I rubbed the side of my head and shut my eyes. “Focus. Find a church. Find Church. Punch him in the nose.” I nodded and pushed myself to my feet. Stone shifted beneath me as I stepped towards the sandy portion of the shore. The grains, coupled with my wet weight, didn’t make things easy. I shambled towards the boardwalk, ignoring the odd stares from passersby. Water splotched and darkened the wooden planks beneath me. I debated stripping on the pier to wring out my clothes but pushed the idea from my mind.
Public stripping is frowned upon.
Instead, I put my hands to my chest and brushed my body. Feeling yourself up is slightly less offensive. I patted down my pants.
Nothing in my clothes.
I spat over a railing. “Shit.” No clues to work with. His clothing wasn’t much good. A simple shirt and jeans never are. The shoes were low-grade sneakers that seemed more for show than use. I leaned against the guardrail and sighed.
All I had to work with was that he had drowned. I ruled out aquatic monsters. He wasn’t out for a routine swim. Not at night. Not with his limbs bound. Something brought him to the water. Pressure built simultaneously within my chest and skull. I concentrated the feeling in the base of my fist as I slammed my hand against the railing.
I turned and marched towards the street. Unseen fingers trailed against the back of my neck. The skin around my shoulders prickled like waves of static coursed over them. People get an odd sensation when they’re being watched. You just know. And there’s an art to spotting who’s got their eye on you.
My pace quickened. I crossed the street and homed in on a path that ran between a pair of buildings. It was narrow and out of sight. A good start. My brisk walk turned into a light jog, and I cut through another street.
A car horn sounded, followed by colorful profanity. If I had the time to stop, I would’ve given him a one-finger salute for his creativity.
Old brick walls surrounded me as I slipped into the alley. The buildings on either side had definitely seen better days. Much of the masonry was pitted, with the occasional fist-sized chunk missing. My pace slowed and I winced. A second later, I released a raucous noise, more through my nose than my mouth. I looked over my shoulder through the feigned sneeze.
It wasn’t the subtlest thing.
A single figure stood out. He waited at the end of the last street I had crossed before making my way into the alley. The lonesome figure was the walking embodiment of a motorcycle fetish with an armored black jacket and matching gloves. I wish the hardened apparel ended there.
For whatever reason, he decided to keep the dark helmet on. Most people would feel it was a stretch to assume someone in a helmet was staring at them. It’s not that much of a leap when the street was empty save for us. I picked up my pace and headed for the corner.
I rounded it, coming into a parking lot with enough room for a dozen cars. One of those weak, sheet metal garage doors filled most of the wall to my right. I flattened myself against the wall and waited.
Seconds passed.
Nothing.
I was tempted to chalk it up to paranoia. But in my world, paranoia is a survival trait.
The sound of boots on concrete filled my ears. A thin smile spread across my lips. Graves wins again. Although I wished I were wrong. My muscles felt like quivering strings waiting to go taut.
An armored glove broke past the corner. I surged forwards, grabbing him by the collar. The surprise and my momentum made it easy to drive him into the opposite wall. There was a plastic crack from the back of his helmet as it ricocheted off the brick.
“Why are you following me?” My fists balled around the collar of his coat.
There was no sluggishness in his movements. He was completely unfazed after having his noggin thrust against a wall. His hands blurred faster than I could keep up with. With a series of quick, coordinated movements, he broke my grip and seized the front of my shirt. The material squelched, releasing a spurt of water on his clothing.
I gave him a weak smile. “You’re not here for the wet t-shirt contest, are you?” I gave the shirt a gentle tug. “I think I win.” My smile slipped as he pivoted, putting his hips against mine. The world looked like I was on an amusement park ride. It tilted sideways and inverted. The helmeted freak grew farther away as I sailed through the air.
My ride was cut short by Newton’s law. The opposite force came in the way of groaning metal. The broad of my back felt like I’d volunteered to be a piñata. The flimsy garage door warped behind me. My shoulders took most of the impact as I crumbled to the ground.
Fuck you, Newton.
The assailant was atop me in a second. I shifted my body, scissored my legs around his, and twisted sharply. He wobbled and I pulled my legs towards me to upset his balance. The asshole crashed into the damaged door. I used the momentary lull to scramble to my feet.
He was faster on the recovery, snapping out with the back of his fist. The blow caught me on the underside of my chin. My vision flared and everything seesawed. One of these days I’m going to learn to stay down.
“Do I owe you money?”
His fist lashed out against a section of nearby brick, which shattered like it was cheap clay.
I blinked. At least I knew I wasn’t dealing with a vanilla mortal. Having my ass kicked might as well have been an enlightening experience. I arched a brow and took a cautionary step back. “You got a name, pal?”
He snarled.
“How do you spell that?”
My mystery attacker hunched, bringing his arms in tight. Great, he knew how to keep his body protected. This wasn’t his first rodeo.
It wasn’t mine either.
I turned to my side, narrowing my profile. “Bring it, asshole!”
He did. Helmet Head closed the distance between us in a fraction of a second. His shoulder turned towards me, and I knew what would follow. A fist arced towards the center of my face.
I stepped towards him and threw an arm over his collar. My fingers dug into the leather jacket as his blow missed. With my free hand, I clenched his belt line. All it took was a sharp twist of my torso and a bit of effort. His feet left the ground, and I took him down. I landed atop him, working to straddle his arms. The leverage of my position was an added boon, and I used it.
My palm crashed into his visor. Plastic vibrated and flexed, but remained intact. The second strike sent a series of hairline cracks running through a corner. I followed up with a third blow. The visor shattered. My fingers hooked around the opening, and I wrenched. The helmet slipped off. I understood why he had chosen to keep it on.
The freak squirmed beneath me and bared his teeth. Four fangs stood out. Shoulder-length hair spilled onto the concrete. The locks were strands of polished pearls caught in the nearby flickering streetlight, seeming to glow. A Night Runner. Ashen Elves.
The bastard younger brothers of the Svartals, a race of dark elves.
My hand slid against the side of his face, past his tapered ears. I seized a fistful of his hair and pulled.
The elf’s citrine eyes narrowed. Heat built within them.
I grabbed him with my other hand and hauled him up. “Why are you following me?”
“Stay out of affairs that don’t concern you.” He bared his fangs at me.
“You followed me.” I released my hold and snapped a fist towards his face. His lips folded back against his teeth and split. Blood welled at the edge of his mouth. It took on an odd sheen atop his ashen gray skin. “Give me a straight answer.” I twisted and used my position to drive a second blow to his skull. My fist tightened for a third strike when the elf pulled away from me.
His knees rocketed into my back. He shimmied until he was free of my pin. The Night Runner’s knees pulled back to his chest. They fired like pistons, driving his heels into my chest.
The world rolled and my eyes followed suit. They fixed on the sight of concrete. I got a better look at it than I wanted a second later. It felt like I’d taken a sledgehammer to my torso and skull. I shook my head and placed my palms on the ground. The world teetered as I got to my feet. “Round…whatever we’re on?”
The Night Runner cocked his head to the side.
I scowled. “Just come here so I can kick your ass.”
He smirked. “Is that what is happening?”
Wise ass.
“Can you, for one second, not be a total tool and give me a straight answer?”
He blinked and looked away for a second. “I was sent to warn you not to become embroiled in your mistress’s entanglements.”
“Whoziwhat? Mistress?” I held up my hands in a gesture of placation. “Look, I think you’ve got the wrong guy. Hell, so do I. I’m just borrowing this body for a while. A short while, I hope. I don’t have a mistress, I think?”
He spat and looked at me like I was an idiot. “You are a fool.”
Way to make it personal. “Yeah? And you’re a dick-bottle.”
His face lost all expression. It took him several moments to recover. “Relinquish your position as her emissary, and you will live.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. It’s hard when you have no clue what the freak is referring to. “Yeah, sure. Now beat it before I beat you.”
His lips spread into a thin smile.
Uh oh.
He blurred into motion faster than before.
I hunched close and threw a blind punch, hoping to connect.
His shoulder buried itself in my gut. He didn’t slow his momentum and drove me back.
Metal crunched. So did I, leaving a Vincent Graves-sized indent in the garage door. It was taking “making an impact” to a literal level.
The elf pulled himself away and dusted his hands. “Stay out of the matter. Next time I won’t go so easy on you, and it won’t just be a warning.” He turned and raced out of sight.
I pressed a hand to my chest. A series of coughs racked my body. “Good…talk.” My head thunked against the door, and I shut my eyes. “And I just got this body. Church is going to be ticked.” My rest could wait. I had a case to start.
It felt like firecrackers went off inside my chest and back as I got to my feet. I pushed the strange encounter from my mind. It was a problem for another time. I shoved my hands into my pockets and left the alley. Finding the nearest place of worship wouldn’t take long.
The static buzz over my neck and shoulders returned. Someone was watching me—still. I cast a glance over my shoulder but saw nothing. I ruled the Night Runner out. He had made his point—painfully. I guess I had attracted another party’s interest.
This was going to be a long walk.
/End
Hope you enjoyed the sneak peek at the chapter reveal of chapter one from Grave Dealings! Book three is coming soon.
September 26, 2017
New York Times Best-seller digs The Grave Report
So, over the course of the last week, a few great things have happened. What are they?
Well, take a gander at this:
That there above is NYT Best-selling author, Hugo-nominee, and two-time Dragon Award-winner, Larry Correia of The Monster Hunter International books, The Grimnoir Chronicles, and Son of the Black Sword.
And I just got a picture of him (courtesy of Michelle Corsillo) saying that he thinks The Grave Report is badass. That was, and still is, mindblowing for the records. The day that came in (last Friday), I couldn’t even focus for the rest of that evening. This a top tier author, someone who I’ve been reading for close to a decade, being nice enough to go out of their way and give me public props.
Remember, someone at the top of the mountain, bothering to help someone like me, who’s still climbing, out. That means a lot. A heckuva lot.
When a #newyorktimes #bestselling #author signs a copy of your #book to a fan, telling them he thinks your work is…
Posted by R.R. Virdi on Saturday, September 23, 2017
Another cool tidbit? Well, thanks to the kindness of fellow author, Gama Ray Martinez, and Larry Correia again, that picture above happened. Mr. Correia signed a copy of Grave Beginnings. I’ve never had that happen before, a best-selling author (especially in the genre I love and write–urban fantasy) sign a copy of something I wrote. O.O
It’s mind-boggling, but a great reminder that good things happen. That, though I’m battling with depression, and trying to figure out how to make things/my dreams happen, other people are willing to help with that. Friends, peers, authors I look up to.
I mean, heck, this was a huge sign and kindness. Someone I’ve read for such a long time, someone who’s at the top of their game, stopping to tell me something inspirational/uplifting like this? Come on, that’s freaking awesome and nice of them, right?
That has to be a sign that I’m doing something right!
September 13, 2017
Post DragonCon 2017 updates: Awards and more!
Alrighty then fellow blargh readers (I call this blog a blargh…because, well, why not?), guess what? Yep, finally have my phone back after it bricking at DragonCon 2017 and can post photos, updates, videos and more!
So, what happened? Well, besides having amazing panels with the likes of Patricia Briggs, Cherie Priest, David B. Coe, Myke Cole, and so many others, lots happened.
A handful of successful and best-selling authors plucked up copies of Dangerous Ways from me and had them signed. *Photos below* I had my name shouted out among and by heroes of mine at the awards and after. I heard from the mouths of NYT best-selling authors and the mouths of their friends that they like my writing.
Larry Correia publicly shouted out my work at the Bard’s Tower booth, telling people to check it/me out, and that my stuff was, “–badass!”
His words. Words that are sticking with me forever. 
August 28, 2017
DragonCon baby!
Ahoy, ahoy, ye blog followers and fan noodles, it’s almost time. That’s right, DragonCon 2017 is upon us, and I’m a guest! If you’re going to be there, I’m posting my finalized schedule below. Check it out, follow it if you can and want to, and come say hi!
Panel Info
Title: A Delicate Balance: Darkness & Light in UF
Time: Fri 10:00 pm Location: Chastain 1-2 – Westin (Length: 1 Hour)
Description: It isn’t always easy to find humor when the fate of the world may be at stake, but our panelists will share how they lighten the serious aspects of their stories & worlds with humor.
Panelists: Delilah S. Dawson, Patricia Briggs, J.D. Horn, R.R. Virdi, Jeri Westerson, Chloe Neill
Title: Across the Veil: Ghosts, Spirits, & Souls in UF
Time: Sat 02:30 pm Location: Chastain 1-2 – Westin (Length: 1 Hour)
Description: Protagonists in Urban Fantasy deal with the gamut of supernatural beings, & not all of them have physical form, posing additional challenges.
Panelists: Leanna Renee Hieber, E.J. Stevens, R.R. Virdi, Myke Cole, David B. Coe, Cherie Priest
Title: Reading: R.R. Virdi
Time: Sat 05:30 pm Location: Techwood – Hyatt (Length: 1 Hour)
Description: Urban Fantasy author of The Grave Report & Books of Winter series reads from his works.
Title: Hope for the Future: The Originals Fan Panel
Time: Sun 10:00 am Location: Chastain 1-2 – Westin (Length: 1 Hour)
Description: A moderated fan-panel discussion of the hit show’s fourth season.
Panelists: Valerie Hampton, R.R. Virdi, Tanisha Haviland, Shannon White, Sheila Butler (M)
Title: Legion: Madness Takes Its Toll
Time: Sun 02:30 pm Location: M301-M303 – Marriott (Length: 1 Hour)
Description: Has there ever been a show that made you say, ‘What the heck is going on?!’ more than this one? And in a superhero show? The inaugural season of Legion turned all the clichés upside down.
Panelists: Kristin Jackson, R.R. Virdi
Title: Magic Found, Magic Lost: The Magicians Fan Panel
Time: Sun 10:00 pm Location: Chastain 1-2 – Westin (Length: 1 Hour)
Description: A moderated fan-panel discussion of the hit show’s second season.
Panelists: Misty Massey, R.R. Virdi, Damian Allen, Wendy Hembrock, Lindy Rae Keelan, Margaret Parsons
I’ll also be at the Dragon Awards ceremony on Sunday as it is my second year in a row being nominated under the Best Fantasy (Paranormal) category. It’s an endlessly amazing honor, and I cannot wait to be there in person to watch it all and take part. Thank you to everyone for making it happen. I hope to see as many of you as possible there.
August 21, 2017
Author Spotlight: LJ Hachmeister
LJ Hachmeister
Interview Questions:
1: Hi, and thanks for joining today. In your own words tell us about yourself, not you the author, but just you!
A: Hi, thanks for having me. Well, most of the time I’m just an aging thirty-something-year-old athlete who wishes back the healthy ligaments and vertebral discs of yore. I love soccer, Brazilian jiu-jitsu, Eskrima, and climbing mountains, and the makers of Ibuprofen. I also play drums and a few other instruments, and have enjoyed the band scene…though at this juncture, I enjoy a good book and being in bed by 9pm even more.
2: Why did you decide to become an author and what’s the best part? Yeah, it’s a double-whammy of a question. So unexpected!
A: Honestly, I’ve been writing stories for as far back as I can remember. As a little kid, I used to love getting up on Saturday mornings and sneaking down to the basement to use my dad’s old typewriter. I always dreamed of writing a book, but it wasn’t until I graduated college that I finally sat down and wrote Triorion: Awakening, the first novel in a series of seven.
Oh man—the best part? Meeting fans. I don’t know if I could endure the zillion hours of editing and re-editing a manuscript, publishing rejections, bad reviews, and all the other negative stuff we authors face if it wasn’t for the fans.
3: So, tell us about your work. Sell us on it! Why should we read it and why it will capture us?
A: Honestly, I’m conflicted about my work. I’ve revealed unconscionable truths, unearthed all the ugliness and beauty I’ve experienced, unleashed my personal hell on paper. It’s terribly raw and revealing; I feel like I’m exposing all my wounds and scars. But another part of me, the one rooted in my career as a nurse, knows that sharing experiences, forging bridges, can heal the deepest of wounds and help others in their journey. And if I make a positive difference in just one person’s life with my novels, that makes it all worth it.
If you want a more traditional pitch: The series follows triplet siblings who unknowingly possess the power of an ancient evil and are coerced into military service. The siblings must decide how to use their gifts in a time of war, even if it means tearing apart entire worlds—or each other—to save the galaxy.
I tell readers if they like character-driven, gritty stories featuring strong female characters and lots of action, this is the series for them. My favorite moment is always when a hesitant reader tells me, “I don’t like science fiction/fantasy,” and then they contact me afterward to tell me that they couldn’t put the books down.
I’m also excited about the first book in my new YA series called, Shadowless – Volume One: Outlier. I was inspired by The Legend of Korra, The Hunger Games, and some of my intense jiu-jitsu training partners to create this world.
The series follows Sen, a teenage girl who fears she is one of the unfortunate few “Outliers” born without any powers. To avoid shaming her family, she runs away. But when war breaks out within her homeland, and death and decay spread throughout the world, will Sen discover her true power in time to save her family?
I love this new series. It explores what it’s like to feel powerless, undeserving, and the illusion of separation that keeps us from realizing our greatness and worth in the world.
4: Why did you choose the genre you write in over others to start your publishing career? Did others appeal to you more and you chose this? Was there a bit of choice weighing or was it rather simple?
A: I love the freedom that comes with science fiction/fantasy. Anything is possible—time-traveling werewolves, talking dinosaurs, prankster aliens—as long as you can write a convincing story. That’s all it took for me to fall in love with the genre.
5: So far, what would you say has been the hardest part of being an author?
A: The glacial waiting periods. Seriously. It’s no wonder that most authors have several novels and dozens of short stories under their belt before they’re noticed. Hearing back from editors, agents, and waiting for fans to read your work and post a review takes time, and for a relatively impatient person like me, it’s agonizing.
6: Now for the ever-so-shocking follow-up question. What’s the best/easiest part, if there is one?
A: Meeting other authors such as yourself ranks up there as the “best part.” And fans. Nothing compares to when a fan runs up to you at a convention and does the high-pitched “squee” before telling you how much they liked your book.
7: Tell us about what your experiences in the author life have been like. I don’t mean the writing aspects. I mean the daily human life. Tell us what it’s like to live the day life you do and be an author at the same time. What’s it like when people in your life and, the people you come across, find out you’re an author?
A: Hmmm. I’m a nurse by day, and even if I won the lottery, I’d want to stay active in that capacity. I do everything I can to create the best possible experience for my patients, and I am so thankful that I can express kindness and compassion in my work, and help people when they’re sick or injured.
My patients are always fascinated that I’m an author as well, and most of my co-workers want me to write them into a novel. So I did. My latest book is a romance novel set in the same universe as Triorion, and features nurses and doctors on a medical mission in deep space. My “work wife” is essentially the main character’s best friend, and the other nurses and doctors are based off many of the saucy and spicy people I work with.
I love this new novel. The main character, Niks, an uptight, conservative nurse, accidentally winds up telepathically linked to her patient, a wild and sexually liberated simulation/stimulation virtual reality operator. Think “50 Shades of Grey” meets “Sense8.” It’s fun, fast-paced, and there’s a lot of sex in it. I’ve never had so much fun writing it – and my wife certainly enjoyed all the “research” that went along with it. Right now I’ve tentatively entitled it, “The Laws of Attraction.”
On a more serious note, about 75% of the way through the novel, I realized I didn’t know how I’d finish it. I had the ending mapped out, but I didn’t believe that the transformation my characters would have to undergo was possible, or that the kind of love they experienced really existed. Then, something crazy happened – I wound up having an unexpected surgery, and my co-workers – doctors (shout out to Pedro!), nurses, and techs – all rallied around me. Childhood friends, family, and other folks made sure I was okay. I was completely overwhelmed by their love, care, and concern, and it was that experience that allowed me the vision to finish my story.
*Reaches for glass of wine after all that cheese*
8: Writing is a hard craft and a harder career. What are the things that keep you going, both in improving the craft, and enduring the downs/lows of the career?
A: Insanity, mostly. And I’m not entirely joking about that. It’s been the best outlet for my thoughts and feelings, especially the unwanted junk, and all the problems I’ve had to work out since I was a kid. I never expected to get any answers back, but my characters constantly surprise me, whispering – or shouting – the answers I subconsciously seek back at me in their most authentic, and raw, moments. So there.
Also, having awesome author friends (like you!) who support you and cheer you on when things get rough is essential.
9: What do you love about the genre you write and what others appeal to you?
A: I love the limitlessness of speculative fiction, and since it is highly unlikely that in my lifetime I’ll be able to walk on another planet, or even the moon, I love imagining those things and making them real on paper.
However, I gravitate toward non-fiction when I read, especially if it’s about someone else’s life. I’ve found that even if they’re from a different culture, time, a different gender, sexuality, religion – you name it – there are still experiences that bind us all, and I cherish those connections.
10: What can we expect from you next? Tell us about the plans for your series and body of work.
A: Well, I just finished The Laws of Attraction, the romance novel I mentioned earlier. It’s a prequel to Triorion: Awakening, but also a standalone. Shadowless is another prequel novel in a four-book series. Both Laws and Shadowless feature characters that will appear later in the Triorion series, around book six. I have Triorion planned for seven books, five of which are completed, four of which are available. Don’t worry – the first four books give you a satisfactory ending that will tide you over until the rest of the books are completed. But for now, expect more short stories as I wait to hear back from my beta readers, agent, and editors!
11: The writing and publishing world has changed a lot. Self-publishing, small to medium presses popping up, and things like becoming a hybrid between indie pubbing and traditional. What are your thoughts on that? Any predictions on what the future might hold? What would you like to see, both as an author yourself, and, as a consumer/reader?
A: *momentarily collapses onto keyboard* I don’t know. For me, especially with all the heartache and troubles I’ve had to face this year both personally and professionally, I’m taking things day-by-day. I’ve done well self-publishing, but it’s been one of the hardest fought battles I’ve put up to date – and I’ve competed in a stick-fighting world championship with two herniated cervical discs and a torn ACL.
I’d like to be a hybrid author, both traditionally and self-published, and I’m working hard toward that goal. I’d like to see folks seeking to self-publish to really take the time to understand what they’re getting into before putting their book out there because it effects all of us. Every time someone publishes something that hasn’t been edited, is of poor quality, it detracts from the indie author community. That may seem harsh, but it’s an unfortunate reality.
12: The always done and asked question. Who are your favorite authors? What are you favorite books? What are you reading now? Tell us. Tell us!
A: Right now I’m reading Richard Wright’s novel, “Black Boy.” Mr. Wright is blowing my mind. I’m going over and over some pages just because his words are so captivating, both raw and eloquent, and I am deeply entrenched in the main character’s plight.
Honestly, there are so many good authors out there, but the ones that are my favorite are the ones like Wright, who give you a true glimpse into their world, their heart, and instill in you a sense of connection and shared experience in an otherwise lonely existence.
13: I’ve got to know…what’s your favorite word to use. Every author has one. What’s the word you catch yourself using a lot? We’ve all got those as well. What’s your favorite word just to say? Something where you like the way it sounds. What’s your favorite curse worse, if you’ve got one and or use them?
A: My favorite word? That’s tough. There are so many great ones—basorexia, bletcherous, sehnsucht… Oh man. How about this: I did enjoy creating new swear words, and sometimes, on my worst days, I’ll shake my fist to the sky and say, “chak it all!” And then chuckle.
14: Lastly, where can we find you? Facebook? Twitter? Website? Links to your material. Go on, don’t be shy. Share!
A: Website: www.triorion.com
Twitter: twitter.com/LJ_Hachmeister
Facebook: www.facebook.com/Triorion/
Thank you, it was a pleasure.
LJ
^^Click banner to be taken to start the series and dive in^^
Bio:
Author L.J. Hachmeister writes and fights—though she tries to avoid doing them at the same time. After winning the WEKAF world championship in double-stick fighting and achieving a second black belt in Doce Pares Eskrima, L.J. decided to take a new approach to world domination and focus on her literary career. Best known for her Triorion series, L.J. enjoys writing in multiple genres, especially speculative fiction.
When not battling the dark forces, or her never-ending craving for sweets, L.J. enjoys teaching the next generation of Filipino stick-fighters and mentoring young authors.
Thank you for coming by, reading, and checking it out. Let me know if you have any questions or comments below? Who would you like to see get a spotlight? Any suggestions?
August 2, 2017
Rock The Dragon! DragonCon 2017 R.R. Virdi Panel Schedule
My DragonCon 2017 panel list is in, and it goes a little something like this:
Title: Hope For the Future: The Originals Fan Panel
Description: A moderated fan-panel discussion of the hit show’s fourth season
Time: Fri 11:30 am Location: Chastain 1-2 – Westin (Length: 1 Hour)
(Tentative Panelists: Valerie Hampton, R.R. Virdi)
——————-
Title: A Delicate Balance: Darkness and Light in UF
Description: It isn’t always easy to find humor when the fate of the world may be at stake, but our panelists will share how they lighten the serious aspects of their stories and worlds with humor.
Time: Fri 10:00 pm Location: Chastain 1-2 – Westin (Length: 1 Hour)
(Tentative Panelists: Delilah S. Dawson, Patricia Briggs, J.D. Horn, R.R. Virdi, Jeri Westerson, Chloe Neill)
——————-
Title: Across the Veil: Ghosts, Spirits and Souls in UF
Description: Protagonists in urban fantasy deal with the gamut of supernatural beings, and not all of them have physical form, posing additional challenges.
Time: Sat 02:30 pm Location: Chastain 1-2 – Westin (Length: 1 Hour)
(Tentative Panelists: Leanna Renee Hieber, E.J. Stevens, R.R. Virdi, Myke Cole, David B. Coe, Cherie Priest)
——————-
Title: Legion – Madness takes its toll
Description: Has there ever been a show you said, what the heck is going on more often? And in a superhero show? The inaugural season of Legion turned all the clichés upside down. -Season Review
Time: Sun 02:30 pm Location: M301-M303 – Marriott (Length: 1 Hour)
(Tentative Panelists: Kristin Jackson, R.R. Virdi)
——————-
Title: Magic Found, Magic Lost: The Magicians Fan Panel
Description: A moderated fan-panel discussion of the hit show’s second season
Time: Sun 10:00 pm Location: Chastain 1-2 – Westin (Length: 1 Hour)
(Tentative Panelists: R.R. Virdi, Misty Massey)
So, yeah. If you’re coming by DragonCon 2017, that’s how you can come see me and say hi. I’m stoked and ready to rock the dragon. Are you?!
July 31, 2017
Quick career update!
You all are awesome.
So, first, yeah. Thank you all for being here, reading this, and supporting me. It matters.
What’s the good news you ask?
Well, where do I begin?
How about here:
1 month from today, I go out to DragonCon. Not just my first time there, but as a guest panelist–long time dream of mine. That’s right. The author career dreams are happening. I’ll be on panels, hopefully loads of writing related ones with my heroes. Hey, a guy can dream, right?
But, this has been a forever wish of mine. To attend this con, this exact one, DragonCon. To be there as a pro, a writing dude who makes words people love. To have fans attend (that’s happening) and to be among my heroes maybe as their peer. I’ve literally had daydreams about this.
It’s happening.
I’m confirmed to be signing and selling at The Bard’s Tower among the likes of Jim Butcher, Larry Correia, Kevin J. Anderson, and so many more industry superstars who have earned their careers a dozen times over and been kind enough to help me along the way as well.
What more can a growing writer want?
I might very well have other opportunities to grow and achieve things there. Nothing is set, but I’m hearing good word come back to me.
So, yeah, I’ve got a great feeling about this and am exceptionally excited. I know to many of you, it’s like, oh, sure, DragonCon, fun place and been there a lot.
To me, it’s a sign of dreams come true. And that means, well, maybe more are on their way to happen. And you know what, that’s awesome. I’m at that point where I’d really love to have something happen to help me break through.
Who doesn’t, right?
But, heck, what’s the shame in asking for it and being honest about it?
Yeah, this is a dream, and I want great things to happen there for me and every other artist/author coming out to make a nice dent in their career. But most of all, I want to have fun, a time to remember. Because, regardless, this is one of my dreams. And, it’s already laid down.
July 27, 2017
Bump in the Night Thrillers! A Storybundle you have to grab!
That’s right, I’m part of a wonderful storybundle (kind of like humble bundle but for books only) in where we have one mighty impressive lineup of paranormal thrillers! So, how’s it work? Simple. You go to the site, pay what you want, and collect some reads. The more you pay, the more you unlock. All the money goes to helping out us authors and the storybundle program and…charity!
^^Click the image or the following link to go there: https://storybundle.com/thriller
Please share it around if you already have these titles or just feel like being of great help. Every share, eyes on this, and purchase really does help. Remember, there’s up to sixteen novels for grabs. If you’re an urban fantasy/supernatural fan, how can you pass this up?
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