Going Indie - Day 15: Double Duty

Coming Soon!

This month is going to be totally insane! I've already determined that my vampire thriller Enura must be done at all costs. Now I’ve realized that I can’t just turn off my production of children's books, either. Ugh!

The solution? Continue publishing my children's books at a high rate while also editing my manuscript. And to torture myself even more, throw in this blog for good measure.

I think I need an aspirin.

Everything feels daunting at the moment, and slowly I'm pulling myself together. That's why I haven't published anything in the last couple days. My process is changing, and now I must invest every waking moment into either editing Enura or writing a new children's book. Yay!

Puppy Power

At the end of last month, I took a week and published five children's picture books about dogs (all right, four if you exclude the compilation). I'm not sure what possessed me to do them in the first place, but once I got started, I couldn't stop. Before I knew it, I'd written four of them, and was able to package them up in a compilation on the last day of July.

I wasn't sure what to expect in terms of sales. I didn't do a heavy amount of market research beforehand, I just told myself, "Hey, that's cute. I think that will sell," and dove right in.

To my surprise, Adorable Dogs: Beagles has sold well this month. In two days, it's sold seven copies (six in the U.S. and one in the U.K.). These aren't big numbers by any means, but I wasn't expecting any more than a couple sales, even though I gave away about 2,000 copies the month before.

But the real surprise is Adorable Dogs: Labradors. This is a project that I wrote for my friend Lucinda and the Lab Rescue of the LRCP. She suggested that I put together a book that illustrates what abandoned dogs go through while in captivity and the role her organization plays in finding new homes for them. The result is a moderately long picture book (about 50 pages) that took nearly as long to write as the other three combined. Apparently she likes it, because she told all her friends and I saw nine quick sales today. Again, not mind-blowing numbers, but this is how it starts.

It's also possible that her organization will get behind the book and help promote it. Wouldn't that be exciting?

Magic Butterfly

Another day, another new project, right? I stumbled across the artwork for Magic Butterfly today and couldn't believe my eyes. I knew that I had to make time for this one because it has real potential. Even better, this will my fourth children's book targeted towards girls. Finally I can put together Four Fantastic Stories for Girls, which will include Bubblegum Princess, Aveline, The Most Beautiful Flower and Magic Butterfly.

In addition, I will be putting together another collection called Four Fantastic Stories for Boys and Girls, which will include Magic Butterfly, Ninja Robot Repairmen, Aveline and Taming Your Pet Monster: An Operational Guide.

Suddenly one release turns into three new products. This is the cornerstone of building your backlist. Once these three products are released, there will be three new ways for customers to find me, not to mention the free promotional days that I get when I enroll them into KDP Select.

Final Thoughts

July was a decent month overall. I sold 1,657 e-books and had 379 borrows. August needs to be a lot better, and I suspect sales will improve at the end of the month since children are headed back to school. I would love to sell at least 2,000 e-books this month, but I might have to be content with holding my ground. If I stay focused and keep publishing great content in a timely manner, things will dramatically improve. It also helps that I'm choosing my projects more carefully this time.

I also plan to go back and overhaul two titles that I'm not entirely pleased with: Bubblegum Princess and Count Those Critters: Deep Sea Edition. Expect new versions of each this month along with follow-up content in the future.

As for my S.E. Gordon pen name, I plan to publish the first of my three short stories in The Sweetest Stalk series. Originally, I intended to sell the collection only, but since the project has stalled, it's time to get something out the door. The first short story will go on sale in early August for 99 cents (the story is written, it just needs a new cover and bonus content).

Things are piling up already and I still have Enura to contend with. I must stay focused and productive if I hope to achieve all my goals this month. I know what I must do. I have no idea how I'm going to get there (besides hard work), but I'll figure out a way.

More than anything, wish me good health. Luck will follow. ;D

Scott Gordon

Happily Insane Indie Author

Going Indie - Day 14: Enura

Coming Soon!

I need a hit. A big one, actually. Do I have any blockbusters in my arsenal? Perhaps. While writing children's books has been fun, I know there is something that I must do. I must finish Enura.

It's hard to believe, but almost two years have gone by since I started writing my vampire thriller. I was working on my 79th chapter when I stopped (each chapter is about 500 words). If I had stuck to my game plan, I would have finished by now. I really have no excuses.

Fortunately, I edited extensively as I went along (Enura was written serially), so it's a very good draft. In some areas, I wouldn't change a thing. It just needs an ending, the ending I have in my head.

I must get it out. Now. No more excuses or delays. The time has come.

Vampire Hunters: Prelude - Chapter 4

SEVENTEEN

“No!” Darrien cried, burying his spurs in his steed, and racing downhill.

I squinted my eyes as the farms blazed, fiery tendrils stroking the ebony sky. Charred bodies punctuated the dirt streets and fields. As the wind surged, the vampire propped me up, ensuring that I could not evade the acrid stench of burnt flesh. I coughed again and again, my eyes stinging from the relentless barrage of smoke and ash.

“Did you miss me, Lawson, as I’ve missed you? I must confess, I’ve lusted for this moment.” Delilah embraced me. “Perhaps you thought me wicked for my hand in the destruction of the Canterbury Coven? Secretly I was hoping you would pay me a visit. Why didn’t you?” When no response came, the shadowling sighed, and rested her head on my shoulder.

A watchtower in the distance collapsed, igniting the field around it.

“You would have done well not to arouse him. Disclosing your intentions would have spared you his wrath. But this…” Her voice trailed off. “He will torture you gladly, cut off pieces if I wish, just like the unfortunate souls before you.” She pulled me closer. “Darrien cannot afford to appear incompetent in the eyes of the Holy Crescent. Cross us, and what is left of your family will fertilize our crops.”

The horse galloped downhill, breaking into a sprint, and cutting through smoldering fields on either side.

“What’s wrong, Lawson? Never conversed with an enlightened before? Or is it some inane code you hold dear?”

I mumbled, struggling to shape sound into words.

“Fragile creature.” She stroked the back of my head with her long, dark nails. “Be thankful my husband didn’t kill you before I convinced him otherwise.”

Two corpses lined the side of the road, hands interlocking.

“A pity your daughter Elena recently met her end. I understand she died in a fire much like this.”

“You lie,” I managed.

“And you speak,” Delilah snickered.

We emerged from the field, navigating a maze of blackened limbs and bodies. A few had fangs, but not all of them. Hopefully someone in this village was worth my tears.

Two-dozen residences bracketed an array of narrow buildings, representing Avarié’s humble urban core. Golden fields surrounded the village with a few bare trees sprinkled in. A dirt road cut through its heart, continuing to a large manor farther uphill.

Structures crumbled around us, horses and livestock squealing in their stables. Sensing the discord in the land, they struggled to free themselves from their refuge as the flames drew near.

I sagged in my saddle, unable to process all of it, sensing opportunity in the moment of despair, but unable to capitalize.

Darrien charged forward, and cracked his whip. He snared my neck with the leather cord, ripping me from Delilah’s glacial embrace. I fell forward, landing on my head. As I shook off the cobwebs, the priest jumped off his horse, and struck me with his bare fists, cutting me with the edge of his ring. I could feel little of the onslaught, but in truth, I hadn’t felt anything since my wife and daughter were taken from me. Finding her was the only way to thaw this icy core, and until then, I was little different than the corpses I pursued.

“Need I remind you?” Delilah got off her horse. “Steady yourself, for my sake. You nearly took an eye.”

Darrien ignored the remark, and rolled me onto my stomach. As he tied my wrists behind my back with the whip, my extremities began to tingle.

“Your sins against Avarié shall not be forgotten.” Darrien dragged me by the hair, and tossed me down a well. I clipped the side with my shoulder, and slammed into a shallow mix of mud and water below. The wind knocked out of me, I spit out the fetid water, and slowly fished myself from the muck.

“Do not bleed him just yet,” Delilah’s voice echoed.

“What now, dear?” said Darrien.

“‘Tis not wise to put him so close to the stores.”

“They will tend to him while we seek his accomplice,” he replied. “Swallow your discomfort, dear. I’ve been farming blood for some time now. The burrowers only take what the host provides, and not a drop more. It will not be the end of him.”

Suddenly the earth shifted below me. I shot up; surprised I could move at all. I backed away, shaking the murky water from my glasses. The shallow pool bubbled over, and then all was quiet.

Delilah peered over the ledge. “It always amuses me to see them wriggle.” She flashed her fangs.

My knees shook as I backed against the wall, and worked my way up. As my thigh brushed against the jagged edge, I could not help but grin. Though the vampire and her underling had commandeered my projectiles, they failed to secure the hunting knife concealed beneath my pants.

I sawed the leather cord with the edge of the pit, but to no avail. Quickly I dispensed of the idea, focusing on the knot instead. Fortunately Darrien was a preacher not a sailor; too much slack occupied my restraints. As I toiled, a large shape burst out of the water. It pinned me against the wall with its multitude of forelegs, and sunk its fangs into my chest. I squirmed as it knifed deeper, struggling to use the wall to scrape it from me. Finally my hands slipped free, and ripped the parasite from me.

Blood poured from my chest as a second isopod sprang out of the mud and snatched my leg. As I grabbed the knife, my arm wilted. They’d struck an artery; I was losing too much blood too fast. I gaped at the river flowing from me as the insects piled on top, and reinserted their fangs. My heart steadied as they drank from me, my glasses splashing into the crimson water. I slumped against the wall, Delilah’s laughter swirling around the chamber as consciousness gave way to dreams.

Something Wicked

I never would have purchased this house if I'd known that a goblin lived in it. The agent promised that the plush pad on the outskirts of Westchester was devoid of crime and vermin. In a sense he was right, but nothing could have prepared me for the creature that skulked these hollow walls.

One morning while I showered, the water turned piping hot. Hopelessly I fumbled with the knobs as the deluge scalded me. Abruptly the downpour turned ice cold, and then dwindled to a trickle. With a head full of suds I proceeded to the cellar, cursing all the way. At first I thought the broken pipe was a byproduct of the ancient plumbing, but when the second and third replacements also snapped in two, I realized I was up against something else entirely.

Shortly thereafter everything went downhill. The pantry was frequently ransacked and droppings left on its bare shelves. Half eaten carcasses littered the carpets and walls were frequently chewed open and stripped of insulation. At night while I listened to the creaking of the house, I could hear the miscreant hiss. Even my dreams were not an equitable refuge.

So I decided to introduce my guest to a friend I made at the local pound. Although I am a smallish man, I do not feel the need for a smallish dog, so I enlisted a beast of military might, an Irish wolfhound that no creature dare cross. As soon as I introduced him to the house, the beast bounded down the stairs, and uncovered the creature's lair hidden cleverly among a pair of broken shelves. After sniffing the fowl opening, my companion bared his teeth, and bravely held his ground. Hour after hour he presided over the passage, refusing to budge. I could barely contain my excitement. There would be no more volcanic showers or road kill rugs. That night I slept like a baby, but once dawn broke my new pal was nowhere to be found. Sadly I would not see him again.

Angered by the turn of events, I grabbed a shovel and crawled into the hole, following the stench until the passage opened to a large dim room. I could feel the parasite's eyes on me as I eased inside. Something snickered nearby. With my shovel I smashed everything within an arm's reach. The racket stirred considerable interest from above and a moment later the light snapped on. When a voice shouted down and a shotgun blast followed, I realized where I was--my neighbor's cellar.

"Don't shoot! It's me, Benjamin Buddle," I cried. I tried to explain everything--that I'd lost my dog and a creature was harassing our domiciles--but the geezer only saw one pest, and unloaded his shotgun once more. I dove behind a stack of boxes and remained there until the police arrived.

Even in my lonely cell, the creature's presence lingered. No doubt it would uncover my ornate Faberge eggs and African beetle collection--how they loved a tasty treat. News of my incarceration spread quickly to my employer, and when I collected my things, a message was waiting on my cell phone. I stepped out of the station, without dignity or a job.

When I finally hoofed it home, there was little to come back to. The door was ajar, dangling on one hinge. My clothes were a pile of torn rags, the furniture broken and gutted. As I turned the corner, I caught a glimpse of the withered menace fumbling with my IPod. Unsure what to make of it, he swallowed it whole. My black heart boiling over, I sprinted down the hall and jumped. Glass exploded all around as I bounced off the frame and onto the floor. Somehow I had not seen the full-length mirror in my path. Then I began to take notice of them, in every corner of every room. All this time I had been living in a house of mirrors.

Then something wicked came over me. I doused the walls with gasoline until the sweet aroma consumed the entire house. I dug a new hole for myself and cobbled together a makeshift throne. "Home sweet home," I marveled.

The creature whispered in my ear, but I paid no heed. There was still plenty of fun to be had. I lit a cigarette and dialed the agent who sold me the bill of goods. "Actually, I'm enjoying the house quite a bit," I cackled. "But it’s a little more than I bargained for. Hopefully it can be fixed. Perhaps you could swing by so that I could show you? Seven o’clock? Perfect. I’m sure you’ll provide the spark I need."

YUMMY! The Crusty Englishman - Chapter 3

As the men lowered the wooden coffin into the ground, the sky darkened, stealing a hint of the sea from Terrance’s eyes.  The wind swirled, whipping his dark locks in the air. Though a storm brewed overhead, the group proceeded, undeterred.

Sarah and Nancy Hilbert stepped forward, a pair of raven-haired beauties that caught his eye. They spread red and white petals over the casket, relenting to his gaze, if only an instant. As his heart quickened, Terrance licked his dry lips.

A middle-aged man stepped forward, and took off his cap. “It’s hard to believe I stand here before you, burying the one who cared for us so deeply,” said Timothy Benton.

“I bet he did--hopefully no altar boys were damaged in the process,” Terrance amused himself; glad the whisper in his soul did not come out his mouth.

“Father Wickum was a pillar of this community,” Timothy raised his hands, “devoting every restless hour to those in need despite the personal cost to himself.”

“Really? I always thought of him as a drunk,” Terrance pondered. If only he could share what was on his mind without getting shot.

“Terrance Thatcher, I believe you were the last to see our beloved pastor before he passed away,” he said.

“Tis true, my friend.” Terrance nodded.

“Would you be kind enough to share a few words about how he spent his final hour?”

“That crusty bastard,” Terrance shook his head, careful to purse his lips. “I would be honored,” he said aloud.

He stepped forward, and scanned over the crowd, resting his eyes on the two twins peering at him with devilish intent. Terrance grinned as the wind swelled, carrying a sprinkle with it. “Ladies and gentlemen, Father Wickum was not the person you thought he was. There was another side to him behind that gruff, monotonous demeanor; a side he so graciously shared before he croaked…I mean, before he passed away. Father Wickum had an addiction, and that addiction was…” He strained to heave the word onto his lips. “…love.”

“Yes, love.” He stalked the crowd. “A passion that pervaded every pore of his body. If he could pour it in a glass, and share it with you, it would be the finest vintage your lips ever indulged. And every day his bottle filled with more…love…more of that sumptuous, unbridled, steamy passion.” He looked into each of the women’s eyes. “Until one day he found himself, a untapped vessel, ready to explode all over Southminster in one gigantic, frosty burst.”

The women squealed as lightening erupted, though not from the thunder overhead. As rain fell in sheets, the townspeople scattered.

“And if he were here right now, he would want to share that love with you, despite the cruel, relentless downpour,” said Terrance.

The graveyard emptied until only three remained.

“After years of faithful service, the only thing Father Wickum begged for was a magnificent, wondrous, mind-blowing release.”

Lightening stuck in the distance behind him.

Terrance traced his fingers through his dark, wet tangles, his drenched shirt revealing the chiseled outline of his chest and stomach. He approached the twins, lost in his icy gaze. “I am sorry for your loss.” He kissed each on the cheek. “How will I ever make it up to you?”

The black carriage creaked over the hill, its lone passenger cursing all the way. As it pulled in front of the Thatcher mansion, a portly man wobbled out, leaving his bags behind, and stomping down the walkway.

“Sir,” the coachman uttered, but the old rascal did not look back. He thundered through the front door, pushing aside his servants as they greeted him, and headed straight for his office. As he opened the door, a familiar sight greeted him.

“Father, what a pleasant surprise!” Terrance exclaimed, not a scrap of clothing on him. Two dark-haired visions pawed at him, their naked bodies draping either side. Sinful smiles fell from their faces; they jumped up, scooped up their clothing, and hurried off.

“Terrance, what are you doing? Where’s Tess?” William Thatcher asked.

“Father, she was a whore!” He stood, the family heirlooms dangling in the air. “Sorry to be the one to break it to you. I drew up the annulment papers myself, gave her a few pounds, a smack on the ass, and sent her on her merry way.” He took a sip of wine.

“What? How could you?” William looked about the room. “You need my signature to do such a thing.”

“Come now, father. You know I’m better at your signature than you are. Instead you should be thanking me; I’ve provided an invaluable service. She was just another mindless whore after the family fortune,” Terrance smiled.

“The only whore in this family is you!” The father grabbed the rifle from the wall and fired.

Terrance ducked as the window shattered behind him. “Are you mad? I’m your son…your true flesh and blood!”

The old man reloaded and fired again, shattering the bottle of wine.

“Not to mention your only son,” Terrance added.

“I’ll have another.” Mr. Thatcher put a large hole in the desk.

“Fine, take it out of my allowance.”

He fired again.

“All right, take it out of my harem. Oh, bloody hell!” Terrance jumped out the window.

Gunfire erupted again as William chased his son through the field. “I loved her! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” He screamed. “You poisoned her, just like my wife before her!” He fired again.

Terrance gasped as three corpses stumbled out of the field, taking notice of the wagging meat before them. The miscreant stormed up the hill as the zombies limped after him.

“What’s this all about? He’s mine!” the father bellowed. Finding his range, he blasted each of the cadavers as Terrance scaled the hill, baring his buttocks to all Southminster.

William squeezed off his final round, splattering the zombie’s noodle over the cabbage patch. As its body rolled down the hill, Terrance staggered, and then fell to the ground.

“Goodness gracious, what have I done?” William gasped. “Terrance?” He tossed the gun aside, and charged up the hill.

“Damn you, father,” Terrance moaned. “Better to shoot my bum clean off than to tear to shreds like you did.” He lay face down in his bed while housekeepers hovered over his throbbing rump.

“Hold still,” Old Man Wiggins mumbled as he wrenched a fragment from his cheek. “I’m low on supplies, so this will have to do.” He poured wine over the wound.

Terrance grunted as vintage flowed over his pale rear. “Give me that!” He reached around and grabbed the bottle. He took a swig, and then offered it to his father.

William seized the bottle, and gave it back to Wiggins. “You’ve really done it now, Terrance.” He shook his head.

“I merely exposed her for what she is, father,” Terrance groaned as Wiggins fished another scrap of metal from his rear. “I even managed to purge her from the will.”

“Is that all you care about, Terrance? Your bloody inheritance?” William exclaimed.

“Course not, father. I want you to be happy, not raped by a band of witless waifs,” Terrance replied.

“You of all people should know that marriage is not built on love alone. Perhaps I wanted to indulge a fantasy a bit, however fleeting. So be it. Clearly I knew she did not love me, but that did not change how I felt in her presence. Tess had a tender heart, and would have made a fine wife if you hadn’t dug your claws into her.”

The father scanned over the enamored faces around him. “What are all of you doing here?”

“It’s all right, father. I wanted the staff to be on hand to lick the excess wine from my crotch once the handyman patched me up,” Terrance grinned.

Wiggins dug deep, pulling out the last shard of metal. “That should do it.” He smacked the rogue on the ass.

Terrance grimaced, and then snatched the bottle back. He swallowed a mouthful and looked up. “You really should have a taste, father; it’s some of your best work.”

“You are impossible, Terrance.” William crossed his arms. Slowly his eyes wandered back to the bottle.

“Do you remember the last time I shot you?” William chuckled, slamming his hand on the dinner table.

“How could I forget? I still have the scar.” Terrance pulled back his brown mane, exposing a short white line across his forehead.

“Turns out I was aiming for the wrong head,” he cackled, and drained his glass.

“Indeed.” Terrance took a sip of wine. “You could have saved several bullets, not to mention years of your life, if you would have just put a bullet in Old Willy.”

“Nah, I’m saving that for the woman who will bite it off one day.” William poured himself another glass. “So what’s the story with those hideous creatures in the garden?”

“Those were the gardeners. I buried them in the field the other day.” Terrance gestured.

“What?”

“They attacked poor Tess; what was I supposed to do? I smashed one over the head with a shovel until I wizened up and grabbed my sword.” Terrance inferred the saber on the wall behind him.

“What possessed you to bury them in the field?” William asked.

“I don’t know; it seemed convenient at the time.” Terrance rubbed his backside. “Oh, my tush.”

“You big oaf, that’s what graveyards are for! Why would you bury them in the very soil that we plant our crops?” The old man shook his head. “Did Tess say anything before she left?”

“No. I just asked why she never inquired about the sausage. She smacked my face, and galloped away.”

“How rotten of you.” William sipped his wine. “The truth is, I have not yet wrapped up my affairs, and must leave again in the morning.”

“That is most unfortunate,” Terrance droned.

“Believe me, I’d rather be here with you, but I’ve just received word that a plague has broken out near Canterbury. I hope to reach her before the plague does, for this might be the last opportunity to visit for a while.” He finished his glass. “But the trouble is I never know what to expect when I journey home; I find myself worrying about you constantly.”

“Come now, father, I must have some wits about me; otherwise, I would have fathered half of Southminster by now,” said Terrance.

“Perhaps that’s the half I haven’t met.” William raised an eyebrow.

“Touché.” Terrance toasted, and polished off his glass as well.

“Terrance, if I am to catch a wink of sleep while away, I must be sure that you are well attended. That’s why I’ve enlisted the aid of your sister.”

“Lizzie? Are you serious?” Terrance balked.

“Dead serious.” The father made a gun with his fingers and shot. “She’ll be here by morning. Since she’s studying to be a nun, perhaps she can relay some of her virtue.”

Terrance’s face darkened. He put his glass aside, and leaned forward. “I’ll show her a thing or two about virtue,” he vowed.

YUMMY! The Crusty Englishman - Chapter 2

Terrance stepped behind the curtain. “Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It has been…bloody hell...I don’t know, twenty years since my last confession?”

“Son, you are in the house of the lord. Please refrain from using profanity.” The elder whispered through the screen.

“My apologies, father.” Terrance nodded.

“Please, take a seat, and tell me your sins.”

“Where to begin?” Terrance rubbed his freshly shaven chin. “Well, for starters, I’ve been having sex with my mother three times a day for the past month.”

“Excuse me?” The priest pressed closer.

“Stepmother, actually. My real mother is a corpse at the bottom of the sea. Do not worry; I would not think of such a heinous act with her, even though I’m certain she needed plenty of sexing up in her day,” said Terrance.

“Pardon? Did you say that you had sex with a corpse?”

“Ha! I said no such thing, you old goat,” Terrance chuckled. “Corpses around Essex only wish I’d stick my seed in them. Their bones might even rise from the grave…or be shit straight to hell.”

“Son, the profanities,” the priest gasped.   

“Right, where’s my head?” He brushed his dark locks aside. “My sincerest apology.”

“Is there anything else you’d like to confess?” The priest shook his head.

“Fucking hell…well, come to think of it, I guess I poked my previous stepmother as well.”

“Your stepmother before your mother?” The priest pondered. “You mean your grandmother?”

“No, you fool. One of a string of foolish knaves who my father married after my mother croaked. I’m afraid I’ve done the whole lot of them.” He leaned back. “You’re married, aren’t you father?”

“I’m a priest, how could I-”

“Then you know how it feels gazing at a woman’s firm breasts, knowing full well that one day gravity will have its way with them. And in addition to those sagging loafs, her unwashed twat keeps creeping on your scruffy chin every morning with terrifying frequency. To think that there is one woman worth sacrificing for, one who can redefine age and beauty is absurd. In the meantime, I’ll keep my melons ripe and fox holes clean; thank you very much.”

The priest’s mouth was agape, but nothing came.

“Say, you have a wine cellar on the premises, don’t you?” Terrance smirked. “Perhaps you could break out a bottle, to help our conversation flow easier?”

“Blasphemy, that is the blood of Christ,” the priest snapped.

“Of course it is, father,” Terrance grinned.

The old brute spit out his wine. “You caught him with a chicken?” He howled. “He only confessed to me about pigs.”

“Goodness gracious, father.” Terrance chuckled. “How deliciously profane.” He snatched the bottle back, and poured himself a glass. “Those poor little piggies helped feed the Thatcher estate for the better part of the year. No wonder their meat was so tough and pale.” He shook his head. “Good thing I smashed his skull while I had the chance.”

“Good heavens. Did you just say you killed a man?” the priest gazed at him in the dim light of the cellar.

“Nothing of the sort: I was defending mum. Truly I don’t know what came over the dunderhead. He ran up and bit Tess, and then after we made love, he came after me,” Terrance replied.

“Wait a minute…what?” The clergyman choked. “Are you saying that while this lunatic was chasing you around, you stopped and shagged your stepmother?”

“Indeed.” Terrance drained his glass.

“You are hopelessly disturbed, my child.” He made the sign of the cross, and flicked wine in Terrance’s face. “So what next? No, let me guess: you’re going to sneak into the church, and have a romp on the holy altar?”

“Afraid we’ve already done that.” Terrance patted his face with a handkerchief.

The holy man spit out his wine again. “Damn you, Terrance. Would you at least let me swallow a mouthful?”

“My deepest…oh, to hell with it.” He raised his glass and drank. “So how goes the rest of Southminster?”

“The normal slop,” said the preacher. “As usual, Mr. Beauford is having an affair with his three housemaids. Old man Wiggins accidentally shot off a toe while waxing his candlestick outside Betty Hammill’s window. Then, of course, there’s the chicken lover you knocked off.”

“I’m surprised Tess did not pay you a visit. Surely she’s been in a dozen times cursing my name,” said Terrance.

“Actually it’s funny you mentioned it; she came by this morning.”

“Really?” Terrance was not the least bit surprised. “And what did she say?”

“No, I shouldn’t.”

Terrance poured him another glass of wine.

The pot-bellied priest gulped it down. “Actually my heart sank the moment she opened her mouth.” He belched. “She told me she hadn’t seen her family in a year, and that she was confused; didn’t know what to do.”

“And?”

The holy man hesitated. “She said she didn’t love her husband, nor the lover who used her so frequently. No names were mentioned, but it’s hardly a surprise it’s you.”

“Go on. Did she mention anything about the inheritance?” Terrance asked.

“Well…”

Terrance kept his glass full.

“Well yes…she said that she could no longer live with herself anymore; even though she saved her family from poverty, she felt like she sold a piece of her soul. Tess feared that the only reason she lingered was to get a better settlement before moving on.”

“I knew it!” Terrance slammed his fist on the barrel. “Thank you father for indulging me with your company.” He set down his glass. “What’s my penance?”

The priest tossed the bible, hitting Terrance in the head. “I’m throwing the book at you.” He cackled.

“Hopefully that’s not how you hand out the Eucharist on Sunday,” Terrance quipped. “So what is the penalty for deflowering the hillside? Execution?”

“I’ll have you read the bible, cover to cover, and come to church every Sunday,” the elder hiccuped.

“Damn it to hell! But what if I’m happily condemned?” Terrance inquired.

“What better way to torture a narrow soul than to force him to read about the very salvation he can never have?”

“You are a wicked man, father. Here, choke on this.” He poured him another.

“I think you have the wrong idea about me.” The priest pushed the glass aside, and went straight for the bottle.

“My, old man. You are steadfast in your devotion,” Terrance giggled. “I think I’ll go join old man Wiggins, and see if Mrs. Hammill will put on a show if we throw coins in her window.”

The priest choked. “Cut it out, Terrance.”

“Perhaps I can get a discount if Wiggins and I compare bacon rods, and I came out ahead.”

Waving Terrance off, the priest continued to choke.

“I’d imagine that between the two of us, we could get a group rate. Hell, if you tag along, old man, she might throw in a second show for free.” Terrance winked.

The clergyman’s face turned purple. He clutched his throat, and fell to the ground.

“Come, father.” Terrance jumped off the barrel. “Let’s go into town, grab a few whores, and play a hand of strip poker so I can talk you out of my penance.” He nudged him with his boot. “Father?”

He bent over, and checked the priest’s vitals. “Bloody hell.”

YUMMY! The Crusty Englishman - Chapter 1

“I cannot believe I agreed to this.” Tess gazed over the rolling hills. She pulled her blond hair in a bunch, and tied it with a blue ribbon matching her dress.

“Come now, mother,” said Terrance. “Is it really such a chore to indulge in a splash of wine and a quaint meal with your dashing son?” As he set down the basket, his lace shirt fell open, exposing his muscular chest.

He opened a bottle, and spotted a man below. “Oh no, not that fool again.”

At the base of the hill, a gardener staggered over crops, chasing away the family dog.

“You must get better at staffing the estate,” said Terrance.

“That’s your father’s business, not mine. Besides, what do you think is wrong with him?” Tess asked.

“Isn’t it clear? Without proper education, the mind is nothing but a rotten core.” He poured a glass of wine. “That mindless twit doesn’t have a lick of academics under him. Ask him to read a book, and watch him stare at it like a hairy arse; ask him to spell it, and watch him struggle to squeeze it out that very same back end.”

Tess grabbed a sandwich, and took a bite.

“In fact, the other day I caught him deflowering a chicken,” said Terrance. “I did not say anything since you were serving poultry that evening.”

She spit out the sandwich. “That’s not funny; I ate that chicken. Is that why you declined so sharply?”

“There, there, stepmother.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth, gazing into her with his deep, blue eyes. “I did not say you ate the very one he defiled.” The wind swept through his long, dark hair. “All right, perhaps I did,” he smirked.

“Rotten child.” She tossed the uneaten portion at him, and glanced down his shirt. As their eyes met, she turned back to the gardener. “No, I think something is genuinely wrong with him. Hatters are more likely to go mad; laborers tend to lose themselves with the bottle.”

Below, the man spun around, tearing up onions and radishes, and devouring them whole.

“Does it really matter?” Terrace took her hand in his.

“No, not here.” She pulled away.

“Is it my fault that father and I share the same taste in women, especially those younger than I? Or that he left you for so long, in the care of his eldest son?” He swallowed a mouthful of vintage.

“We’re going to get caught,” she whispered. “Why don’t you bother the duchess of Harlow?”

“The one growing hair out her ears?” Terrance balked. “And what if I explored regions father south? Would you send a rescue party to extract me from that jungle of hers?”

“Damn you, Terrance. Shut up!” said Tess. “Oh my, he’s headed this way.”

“Perhaps he would like to sleep with you as well.” Terrance drained his wineglass.

“Shh…I’m serious. Why aren’t you pouring me a glass?”

Terrance ignored the request. “Maybe you could give him a taste? The closest that chap has come to a pair of real melons are the ones in the garden.” He pinched her breast.

“No!” She slapped him away. “I would never do such a lowlife.”

“Well, you’re doing me, why not him? Hell, why not the both of us together?” He poured himself another glass. “I could even throw in a chicken, just for fun.”

Tess slapped Terrance across the face. “Enough of your banter. I am no whore.”

“Truly it would not be an exquisite day without your loving touch. My apologies, stepmother. You are not just a whore.” He snatched her hand, and kissed it. “You’re a raging whore.”

Tess jumped. “Get your hand out of my dress.”

“Sweet mother, I did no such thing. It must have been a random gopher wandering these lands.”

She jumped again. “Stop it!” Her caramel eyes darkened.

“They must be frisky this time of year. I believe we have an epidemic.”

Tess stood, and scooped up the basket. “You are a bastard, Terrance. I loathe the day I met you,” she uttered.

Terrance lingered on the ground, fidgeting with a dandelion. He peered up with his icy, blue eyes.

“I shall lunch elsewhere; and stop gazing at me with those puppy dog eyes.”

Terrance got to his feet, and tossed the weed aside. “I’m having trouble with this shirt; I cannot seem to keep it on.” He peeled it off, revealing his broad chest and shoulders.

Tess could not help but gaze at his chiseled frame as it blocked out the sun.

“To a prosperous day, mother.” He held up the bottle of vintage, and took a swig.

As her eyes lingered over him, the disturbed gardener crept over the hill. She screamed as he lunged forward and bit into her arm.

“Have you lost your mind? I was only kidding about the whole sex thing,” Terrance tried to peel him off. “Oh dear, mention twat and the whole countryside comes running from miles away.” He peeked over the side as more laborers scaled the hill.

“Terrace, do something,” Tess cried.

“Right.” He polished off the bottle, and then smashed it over the lunatic’s head. Terrance pushed him over the edge as two more crept up. He swatted the others with the picnic basket, before ultimately handing it to them.

The madmen fished a sausage from the basket, and fought over the pork tender.

Terrance sighed. “And I had such ambitions for that slab of meat.”

He smashed their jaws with his fists, and kicked them off the hill. “Dung-eating fools!” He picked up his shirt, and wrapped it around Tess’ bleeding arm. “Now let’s get you cleaned up,” Terrance grinned.

“No.” She pulled him closer, aroused by the sight of blood. “Take me here.”

“Are you mad? With these lunatics lurking about?”

She thrust him between her breasts. “Devour me,” Tess murmured. “Lower.” She pushed his head down. “Lower still...oh yes, that's it...” She arched her head back.