What comes first, might be the last thing you write

Well as sad as it is, today is the last day of my tour here at Kayden's. But I'm sure she'll have me here again at some point or another. So, thank you Kayden for having me here at your blog. Hope I didn't leave too many things out of place.

The past two days I spoke of my last two horror releases at Moongypsy Press. But, as some of you know, there is a heart somewhere inside me (laughs) and it does get a chance to show itself. My latest release with Moongypsy Press, Ghosts of the Storm, is one of those stories where my muse and heart worked together, weaving a tale of love, loss and yes, some paranormal.

In some of my previous blogs I spoke of my muse messing with me in hot tubs and how some of my personal life had played an important role in creating Ghosts of the Storm. Small things like placing the setting just outside of my father's property he used to own in McDavid, the Piggly Wiggly that I called the County Pig, and the rabbit farm just a short distance from my dad's house. Oh and let's not forget that there really was (I haven't been to McDavid in years) only two to three gas stations on that long stretch of road.

But today I wanted to talk about another part of the story that I found to be fun and exciting. The finish line.

Once Bobby started telling me the his version of Ghosts of the Storm, I immediately began pecking at the keys. But one thing caught my eye from the begging of the story. Here, let me show you:

Now, if you met Joe on any given day, you'd have thought the sun shined out his asshole or something of the like. He smiled like he was the only man in on some joke on the world and never, and I mean never, gave you a cross look, even if you ran over his dog. I know. I did that one day and felt like shit for it. Anyone does something like that to Joe would bend over backwards to make it right, just 'cause Joe never did any harm. His wife on the other hand… well, we'll get to her soon enough. Right now, we're still talking about Joe sitting at the end of his driveway during the night of the storm.

"You'd have thought the sun shined out his asshole," still makes me laugh each time I read it. And I'd like to venture that we all know people like that. I'm sure some of us at times wish we were that person who seems to be perpetually happy no matter what. Well except for Joe, who the readers find out really isn't as happy has he's always made them to believe.

Well, I knew early on that this story would be a tragedy and that I wanted the readers to feel their hearts ache for my characters. Even a little for Bobby, my narrator. But that damn phrase kept sticking out in my mind. How can you make someone's heart ache with a visual of sun blasting out someone's backside? But it was simple. I just made the sun shine out someone else's ass! Crazy how that works, but if you read Ghosts of the Storm, you'll see what I mean.

So without any delay, I wrote the last paragraph of my story and I'd be damned if it didn't serve as my guide all the way through writing it. Each time I felt unsure about where I was going, or if I'd be able to finish, I'd read that paragraph and feel my heart ache for Bobby. Next thing I'd find is me typing hundreds of words again. As always, it's Bobby's story and without him I don't think it would have been nearly as interesting.

So dear readers, there you have it. I started my story at the finish line and then caught up to myself in the end. And speaking of finish lines, we have reached ours here both in this entry and at Kayden's for this tour. I do hope you all enjoyed what I had to say and hope to see you all soon, both here and at all the other places I've been stopping.

Take care in all you do,
Trent Kinsey

http://www.trentkinsey.com/

http://www.moongypsypress.com/kinsey.php

http://www.trentkinsey.com/books/ghosts/ghosts.php

Trent Kinsey: The book that inspired The Book of Absolute Truths

Dear Reader,

Welcome to day two! So far Kayden has yet to kick me off her blog so I must be behaving (chuckles). So while she's not looking I'll throw another tale of my muse running around with my imagination again. Today, I'll tell the story behind the story of The Book of Absolute Truths, my second release with Moongypsy Press.

Well I happened to be in a writing slump, which seems to happen more often than not so I picked up an eBook of short stories. Every now and then, when my muse ventures to Mexico, I end up reading romance and erotica—yeah, I know. A guy reading erotica, how surprising! But every now and then reading outside of my favorite genre helps spark that dark urge I need when writing horror. Some couple or however many (depends on the author) people are having sex and my muse comes by and says, "Wait! Hell no! You need to kill someone or wouldn't it be creepy if this happened?"

So I'm sitting on the smoke-deck at work, reading this one tale about a used book store owner who falls in love with a ghost haunting his store. And even though I enjoyed the story, as soon as my muse showed up, prodding me about my next tale of horror, I couldn't seem to focus enough to finish the story. My muse had me: hook, line and sinker.

Just a simple thought...What if a used book store owner was given a book he couldn't get rid of?

I'm lucky in the fact that another author of Moongypsy Press, Imari Jade, is a good friend of mine. She works four floors above me at our day jobs and we go out on smoke breaks almost every work day, discussing all we are currently working on.

As my muse continued to tell me the story, so I did to Imari. And one day as I was walking toward our usual meeting spot, the thought hit me. The twist in the story became apparent. Ah, but I'm not going to tell you that!

I'll give you only one of the twists in the story. The Book of Absolute Truths lies.

With that said, I hope you all enjoyed my little insight into writing my second release with Moongypsy Press, and hope to see you tomorrow for my last day at Kayden's World of Paranormal where I'll be talking about Ghosts of the Storm.

Trent Kinsey

http://www.trentkinsey.com

http://www.moongypsypress.com/kinsey.php

http://www.trentkinsey.com/books/truths/truths.php

Trent Kinsey, Something Strange To Blame

Dear Reader,

Let me thank Kayden for letting me run rampant in her blog for the next three days. Not everyone is brave enough to let me play freely in their yard. But I'll be good and leave her the same way I found it, promise.

For the next three days I will be talking about my releases with Moongypsy Press, all of which have some paranormal aspect to them. But I wanted to do something different than just posting blurbs and excerpts...I wanted to give you all a little bit more about my tales of horror and romance.

With that said, I'd like to tell you about some of the weird occurrences that surrounded the writing of my first Moongypsy Press release, Who's to Blame.

I wrote Who's to Blame almost immediately after I sold 10:15 to Eternal Press around this time last year. I had become so excited about becoming a fiction author (I used to be a journalist). I wanted to jump right back into writing and the idea hit me, and my muse wouldn't let me stop until it was complete. I finished Who's to Blame over one weekend and began the edits before submission.

Who's to Blame is a story about a viral outbreak that leaves everyone in an aggressive, zombie-like state. Within five days of writing the story, H1N1 hit the news. The first occurrence. What's really strange about this occurrence is that there was a town mentioned in my story, outside of Twenty-nine Palms, California. I chose this town because I am a Marine and know of the town, and it seemed like a good opening setting. Not long after the outbreak of H1N1, a story aired about how the specific strain of flu made it to that same town.

It took close to 45 days for my first rejection of Who's to Blame. It was upsetting considering it was my first rejection as a fiction writer. But as with all of us in the game, I picked up the manuscript, looked it over and then revised it before submitting again.

This time I changed something small about how the President looked when giving the address to the nation about the outbreak. I had mentioned that he looked as if he were suffering from the same disease as Michael Jackson. I did it to emphasize how white he looked with dealing with such a catastrophic outbreak. Again, not long after submitting the manuscript to another press and while waiting for it to be rejected yet again, Michael Jackson died. The second occurrence. And I promise I'm not trying to poke fun of the late King of Pop.

I told my friend, Imari Jade, that if Who's to Blame got rejected again, I would not revise it because it seemed that each time I picked up the pen to this particular story, people got hurt. And to this day, I have yet to see the President bite a chunk out of the CDC director's neck! Yes that happens in the story too, but of all the things that could happen, is that too much to ask? For those of you that don't know me well, the previous statement is a joke.

So there you have it friends. A couple of strange occurrences that happened when writing a strange story. Hope you enjoyed and hope to see you tomorrow when I talk about The Book of Absolute Truths!

Trent Kinsey

http://www.trentkinsey.com

http://www.moongypsypress.com/kinsey.php

http://www.trentkinsey.com/books/blame/blame.php

Showcasing Moongypsy: A Note From Kayden...

Dear Readers,

This month we’re showcasing the paranormal side of the brand new publishing-house, Moongypsy Press. I’m so thrilled to present our talent to you, and not just the authors either, but the behind-the-scene wizards that allow us to give you perfection in pages.

We’ve already gotten started, but aren’t nearly finished yet…

Books Coming Soon From Moongypsy Press, Tentative Launch: January 25^th 2010

The Book Of Absolute Truths, By Trent Kinsey

Who’s To Blame, By Trent Kinsey

Witch’s Fire, By Tabitha Shay

Darkness I Weep, By Julie A D’Arcy

Deep Water Legends, By Kayden McLeod

As well, we have a gallery of Dawné Dominique’s Cover Art for MP, and Trent Kinsey posts about his desire to know about your paranormal experiences…

And also coming this month, our very own Marketing-Manager, Tina will be stopping by to tell you about what’s up and coming with us, and the owner of MP, Foery will be giving us an excerpt from Laird of the Mist, and coming to say hello! In addition, a have a few more authors lined up.

We’re all so excited for Launch…none of us can really sit still! Tehe. So come on, and join us for a ride of a lifetime!

BE SURE TO JOIN OUR READERS GROUP, OPEN NOW:

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/mpreaders/?yguid=404012103

Happy Reading…

Kayden McLeod

http://www.kaydenmcleod.com/

The things that can't be explained

I'd like to believe that all of us have experienced some type of paranormal occurrence at some point or another in our lives. The mysterious ghost that turns on your radio to that strange guy down the street you'd put money on is a vampire or werewolf… There are things we witness in some of our lives that just can't be explained. For some reason, we reach an age and the belief that there are strange things that can't be explained don't exist anymore. The veil between our world and it thickens and makes it harder to see.

And yet, we suspend our disbelief when we go to the movies or read a story of the paranormal by one of our favorite authors…But, deep inside we think about that one experience…That one moment in time when we were the main character in our own paranormal adventure. We think of that radio, or freak occurrence and something inside us wants us to believe again.

And then comes that day. The day you know you put the fork on the table and as you turn to get your drink from the refrigerator, you hear the utensil hit the floor. You play it off, telling yourself you just placed it to close to the edge, but in the deep recesses of your mind, you know it was nowhere near the edge. But do you believe?

So I pose this question: What do you believe in? Have you seen a ghost? Been bitten by a sexy vamp? What about a demon that became fascinated with you?

Trent Kinsey Presents: The Book Of Absolute Truths

The Book Of Absolute Truths

By: Trent Kinsey

Coming Soon, From Moongypsy Press

SUMMARY:

If someone wrote you life’s story, would you read it?

When a vagrant enters Randy Moreland’s used book store and thrusts an ancient book into Randy’s possession, Randy finds out his life story is not what he expected.

The vagrant insists that Randy get rid of the book by any means necessary, not to even read the cursed tome. But Randy is unable to help himself as he finds the book is writing his life; his life as it is happening. The book even tells Randy of his wife’s current affair that occurs while he is at work.

Unable to catch his wife in the act and not knowing if he wants to learn more secrets about his life, Randy tries discarding the book in the river only to find there is more to The Book of Absolute Truths than its title suggests. Truths that could cause a man to kill himself or the ones he loves.

http://www.trentkinsey.com/

Trent Kinsey Presents: Who's To Blame

Who's To Blame

By: Trent Kinsey

Coming Soon, By Moongypsy Press

To Buy Kindle E-Book: CLICK HERE

SUMMARY:
When John Williams' daughter dies of cancer, he closes his heart to everyone, including his wife. No longer feeling like he can write children’s stories, he squanders his retirement money sitting on the couch engulfed in his loss. After John’s investment portfolio crumbles with the stock market, he takes his agent’s offer to write the biography of the reclusive author Mark Edwards. The problem is Mark does not want a book written about him.

John’s wife, Lisa, leaves him because of their constant fighting, and John learns from Mark how much blame plays a role in a person’s life. As John learns more about Mark and the author’s own personal loss, a viral outbreak occurs causing the infected to become aggressive, deadly and extremely hungry. John finds himself torn between wanting to make sure his wife is alive and the fear of becoming one of the infected.

The infection spreads and no one knows how to fight it, what caused it or who to blame.

http://www.trentkinsey.com/

Ghosts and Ghouls

As much of a disappointment as it might be to those who know me, truth be told, my favorite paranormal creature would have to be the ghost. Don’t get me wrong, I love werewolves and will always feel a kindred pull to the families of lycanthropes roaming the worlds of fiction, but ghosts…Ghosts are the monsters of our world that could or could not really exist. There still has yet to be scientific evidence proving they do not exist and as years go on, you can always find a “ghost hunter” show of some sort with people trying to prove or disprove their existence to no end.

Why ghosts, you might ask. It deals with the hope of life after death. Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to spend my eternity roaming the earth pulling pranks on unsuspecting victims long after my family has moved on. But if there are ghosts, there is existence after death and I don’t have to fear the thoughts of dying and there being nothing after I close my eyes for good.

Have you ever thought of death in the sense of “we are nothing more than animals roaming the earth?” Really stop and think about it. You die…nothing. What is the purpose of living if there is nothing at the end? Why sustain consciousness? Why have consciousness? Now I know religion is a touchy subject with people, so I keep from that direction, but I want some scientific though about this. At this time, man seems to be the only conscious being on the planet (philosophy, art, music).

Now let’s drop some ghosts into the mix. Now you have the idea of no darkness after the long goodnight. You close your physical eyes, but your spirit moves on or stays to cause some hell after death or continually search for your keys in an after-life-loop. Either way, the thoughts of “nothing” when it’s all over is gone.

With that said, here‘s my question for you:

Do you believe in ghosts?

The Day I Met Darkness

I want to share a story with you. One day I’ll use it in one of my works, but I just haven’t found the thread to weave it to yet. It’s been almost ten years since the night I will speak of and I still remember it as if it happened last night. I know that sounds cliché but it’s the truth.

For a short stent of time, I left active duty in an attempt to return to school. I never made it back to school; all I accomplished were numerous grave-yard shifts in conjunction with double-shifts or longer. There was one week in particular that I actually worked more than sixty hours and what was over sixty had to go on the next week’s pay.

It was during one of the overworked and stretched thin weeks that I meet someone I hope I will never meet both in this life and the one after.

Call “It” what you like (he, her it, Devil, Satan, Lucifer, Prince of Darkness, etc.) but the fact remains, there is an embodiment of pure evil, the darkest of thoughts which has been pulled together, making a physical form and that is what walked into my store around 3am one morning. Feel free to call me crazy or tell me I’m reaching, it will never change my mind.
Most stores receive their shipments during the night shift. It’s probably because there is less foot-traffic the vendors have to compete with to drop off their goods. Regardless, it was a dead night and I had just signed the paperwork telling my managers the bread man made a drop off / pick up. The only other vendor I would be expecting would be the newspaper lady (it’s been years and her name escapes me). A short, slightly stout woman, the news lady would come in to drop of approximately 10 new newspapers and take what remained of the stack with her. During that time we usually discussed anything under the sun, or in our cases, under the moon.

It was close to that time when a man entered my store that was by far completely unremarkable in appearance. I know that sounds strange for someone I believe would be the devil, but the more I think of it, would the Devil flaunt his power and stature or would he make people believe he didn’t exist, like a stalking tiger? I choose to believe the latter. The man stood around six-feet tall with medium length, brown wavy hair. I’d tell you his eye color, but upon making first visual contact with him, something deep within my being screamed for me to not look him in the eyes and I’ve almost always followed my gut. He had semi-strong facial features, five-o’clock shadow and looked physically fit under his worn-out brown leather jacket.

Now that you have a picture of my unremarkable features, I will tell you that once he walked in, my nerves immediately became electrified with flight reflexes. Fight never once entered the equation. This would be easy to understand if I was a wimp or had no self confidence, but you have to remember, at the time I was a member of the Marine Corps Reserve, only 3-years since I graduated recruit training. Flight is not a reflex taught in boot camp! Yet I wanted to run to the swamps and hide in the trees.

Instead I stood my ground – a center island , raised three inches off the ground so the cashier can see the store and its occupants over the shelves – and watched as the man swayed through my isles. I say sway because he glided as if walking on air and acted as if he was bored by what the store offered, what the world offered. The entire time, each step, I felt that my soul was in peril, that one wrong word and the world would split beneath my feet and swallow me inside of its depths. I watched.

After what was only a short time of meandering, but what felt like an eternity to my heavily beating heart, the man chose a coke, paid and left my store. I know that during his time in the store he asked questions and I answered reluctantly, but for the life of me, I can’t remember one word spoken! I do know that once he left the store, my knees became weak and my legs shook as I sat in the small chair behind the register. I felt like I had after the very few fights I had been in while a kid. Blood began to dilute the adrenalin that had been feeding my cells during his time in the store.

I heard the bell ring tell me someone entered the store again and prayed it wasn’t him coming back to take me with his coke. Again I felt relieved when the news lady walked in with her waddle-like shuffle. She apologized for being late, and proceeded to tell me she didn’t want to come in with the guy in the store. That comment stuck with me. We both felt strange about the stranger. She even confessed she put a pistol in with her newspapers in case he came her way. A pistol she hadn’t touched in years, almost since its purchase.

Maybe I have a good soul and I like to believe I do, because I’m still walking the Earth and have never been confronted by the man or anything else that made me feel I would be stripped of my being forever.

Take it as you will, my mind is forever made,

Trent

The truth about the strange and unknown

I have the distinct pleasure of working a few floors down from another author, Imari Jade. I’ve been speaking with Imari for over ten years now (as we both smoke and take the usual siesta at work to talk of our works in progress) and consider her a great friend and confide in her my ideas and developments. It was during one of these smoke breaks that I discussed the idea of writing a tale of a man escaping from hell, but he has to go through [my version has a varying amount of levels, so sue me] before he can escape. Steal the idea if you like, it’s not original – hello Devine Comedy! – but I’ve been told that there are no original ideas anymore, only original ways to tell the story.

Imari asked me if I was up to date on Dante’s work. Now I’ll admit I haven’t attempted to read “The Devine Comedy” since high school, and I really didn’t attempt to read it then either, but the fact remained I didn’t plan to read Dante’ because I have—God forgive me for daring to break from the pack—my own ideas of hell. And that statement spurred our subject, which I share with you, about the stereotypes of “monsters” and the importance of getting it right.

So let’s first discuss stereotypes and my utter hatred for them when writing fiction. Hi, I’m Trent Kinsey. I’m a white male, of said age with brown hair, a beard, blah, blah, blah. I say this because I’m sure my physical characteristics matches some serial killer profile or that of a sex offender. I’m neither, but do you see where I’m going? Each of us matches some profile or some stereotype, but it doesn’t mean we belong to it or that we are it. I strongly believe the same of our loving monsters and paranormal freakies. For example: I say vampire and you say…Hates sunlight…Drinks blood…can change into a bat, mist and in some corners of the world, a wolf...etc. Or how about our friend the werewolf (one of my absolute favorites I might add) and you’d say…Silver bullets…Changes during a full moon….etc.

I can go on like this for pages and pages, but I think the idea is starting to form. We’ve been programmed to believe in the strength and weaknesses of our paranormal figures because it’s what’s been said in every encounter. Movies, books and camp-fire stories all use the same slate when describing our favorite—or most feared—creatures. Why is it such a bother if a vampire can walk in daylight? Or, is it so bad if someone changes to a werewolf during the day?

The answer is no,' but the conundrum of the answer is that the author has to create reasons for why this one creature is different than the stereotypes. Let me say that again so it will sink in and take root—The author has to give reasons why a creature is different than what the reader expects. Now, I’ve never met a vampire and though my friends will disagree with me, I’ve never met, nor am I a werewolf—it’s the beard that throws my friends off. I will admit I’ve seen ghosts, angels and demons, and I still believe I met the devil one night working the grave-yard shift at a convenient store years ago, but I digress. The fact remains that what we discuss are creatures that I doubt others have met and if they did meet said creature, the thing wouldn't tell you how to kill it. So why are we extremely stuck on the stereotypes if none of us really know how to kill a vampire, or when a werewolf changes? Better yet…Who’s really been to hell and came back to tell us not only what it’s like, but how to escape it?