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Check this out at Amazon.com

Posted: July 16, 2017 in Uncategorized

Not Only the Dead https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01DSIBMJ8/ref=cm_sw_r_other_apa_EuYAzbDSFPJC4

Hey all,

Not Only the Dead is free for today only!

Please like, share, and recommend!

New content coming VERY soon.

Thanks for everything,

Jim

FREE EBOOK PROMOTION VALID April 23rd and 24th ONLY!

 

 

Enjoy—Jim

 

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And now a little about World Book Day, just because:

For those of you out there that don’t know, April 23rd is World Book Day. The quasi-holiday was created by the United Nations as an educational promotion of reading and general literacy.

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The date of April 23rd was chosen as a shout out to William Shakespeare, the bard was born on the date in 1564 and died on it in 1616. And as if this wasn’t enough, Miguel de Cervantes, the author of the legendary, Don Quixote died on almost EXACTLY the same day as Shakespeare! Cervantes died late in the day of April 22nd 1616 and was buried on the 23rd.

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As many of you know, Whispers of the Wakinyan is now live in the kindle store as well as in print on amazon.com.

BOOKS AVAILABLE HERE

Many exciting things have happened in the 48 hours or so since the book was released. Book sales are off to a great start in both formats and Whispers of the Wakinyan has also been downloaded several times through the Kindle Direct program, that allows members of Amazon Prime to download thousands of titles free to their kindle or ereader.

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It may seem somewhat strange for free copies of a work to be welcomed, but the download and consumption of free copies helps to both boost the ‘title rank’ in Amazon analytics and also qualifies the book to receive royalties from the Kindle Select Fund, which is distributed to all participating titles according to the number of pages read by subscribers.

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Also, I have been invited to enter Whispers of the Wakinyan in an Amazon UK contest that is open to new book listings. With this being said, please remember to read and review to help take Whispers of the Wakinyan to the top of the rankings! Prizes include exclusive publishing opportunities and a higher rate of exposure.

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Hey everyone,

I will post something longer this evening, but I wanted to let everyone know that my novel, Whispers of the Wakinyan  is now available in both kindle and print formats! 

Get your copy today and dive into the world of Joey Gordon and his family as they struggle to stand against dark Native American spirit gods!

https://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/1544683901/ref=mp_s_a_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1491593793&sr=8-4&pi=AC_SX236_SY340_FMwebp_QL65&keywords=jim+t+gammill&dpPl=1&dpID=51im8hZXrmL&ref=plSrch

It would make sense that the process of editing and finalizing would be the most drawn out and pain-staking to a group of individuals (writers and other creatives) that are traditionally self-critical and border-line paranoid about how their work may be received.

Yet, despite this unfortunate reality, editing and proofing is not only the best way to make a work stand out, but also for an author to transcend from amateur to professional. Many literary powerhouses have passed on their wisdom about the editing process and regardless of what they say or how they say it, the end result is generally the same:

Writing down your ideas is only the beginning!

or the ever-popular euphemism,

Real writing begins AFTER the first draft is complete.

For me, the thought of editing is no different. I feel the urge to tell another story the second I wrap up the one that I am working on. But, how fair would that be to the characters that inhabit the pages, the meters within the stanzas, or the themes shrouded beneath the webs of prose that we, as writers labor so hard to create?

The answer:

Not at all.

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Editing takes determination and patience, but the resulting drafts are far more rewarding than half-finished or open-ended manuscripts that are not just unsuitable for the market place, but questionable for even sharing with a friend or family member!

As some of my more regular readers probably know, I have just completed a close-to-final edit on my upcoming full length novel, The Legend of Thunderbird, Coyote, and Joey Gordon. The time spent in editing that beast could have allowed me to create a couple of smaller sized works from concept to print (or kindle), but like the ideas outlined above:

The end product was totally worth it!

To effectively end this post, I would like to leave you with a couple of my favorite editing quotes:

“Kill your darlings, kill your darlings, even when it breaks your egocentric little scribbler’s heart, kill your darlings.”

-Stephen King-

“I believe more in the scissors than I do in the pencil.”

-Truman Capote-

HAPPY EDITING EVERYONE!

Have you ever noticed that sometimes a movie, novel, or other work of creative prose may have an outstanding premise, but ends up leaving you wanting?

Like dry turkey without gravy.

A peanut butter sandwich without jelly.

You get the idea.

When I used to encounter these common offenders in my pre-writing life I would ask myself questions like where did the author go wrong? Or, the story was so cool, but why did it leave me unconvinced and unfulfilled?

And then, late one dark and stormy night (aka sitting at my desk writing about a subject that was new and unfamiliar) it happened to me. I was feverishly writing a suspenseful paranormal   screenplay about extra-terrestrials through the eyes of a hard-boiled detective. I successfully dodged clichés (aside from hard-boiled of course) and everything was coming together, and THEN:

I re-read it.

AND CRINGED!

I took a break from my writing desk and stepped into my backyard, which for me always offers some distance from the worlds in my head by showcasing the world that we live in. In the foothills of a secluded semi-desert valley, I am always treated with scenes of local wildlife, bright stars, or air traffic from the local military base. I thought about what was working in my story and what wasn’t. I realized that the detective, who’s perspective the story was told through was just too strong and level-headed to create the tension that I was really looking for. His girlfriend, a journalist and rape survivor, was a much better outlet for a story about vulnerability and offered the reader more of a human connection.

I re-wrote the story through the journalist’s perspective and was amazed that it not only increased the overall tension, but made the thought of alien abduction all the more terrifying as she could relate it to her past experience of being raped. People usually don’t like movies for aliens or monsters alone (although in my opinion, they DO help quite a bit), the stories that are really successful and memorable are usually the ones that speak to audiences on an emotional or human level.

Of course, if a story isn’t working the way that you want it to it could just be bad (I have had a couple of those too!), but if you have a great premise and feel that your narrative is not as strong as it could be, a change in perspective could be just the thing that you are looking for.

Hey there horror fans!

I couldn’t sleep a few nights ago and decided to write this creepy little diddy. I hope that you all like it.

Reader beware if you have a mirrored closet door…

Or a brother named Bobby.

‘Bobby’

The house creaked and settled; each sonic intrusion breaking the silky silence of night. We used to live in the city. We used to have the buzz of traffic to lull us to sleep. We used to have strangers talking and passing each other in the night to remind us that we were not alone. That there was a pulse to the city and that if something were to happen, help would never be too far.

My parents just bought a home in the country. A variable farm estate to tell the truth, and it is all the things that our old house was not. I stare at the bottom of my brother’s bed and try to imagine the sounds, but I can’t seem to do it over the absoluteness of the silence. I wonder if Bobby can hear me breathing, because I can’t hear him. I think it is because he has the top bunk, but what if he had actually stopped breathing?

I think of the acres of green farmable land just beyond our bedroom and what would happen if I actually did find my brother dead and lifeless. I imagine throwing the window open and screaming into the night. The still air and statuesque trees swallowing my cries like a vacuum. A black hole manifesting, random and cold just beyond the barrier of our walls.

I don’t know how long I lie in bed before I could fall asleep. But when I do I feel like I’m sinking. Like the vacuum thing from outside crept between the crack in the window, slithered under my bed, and is now pulling me into my mattress.

Hours into the night something jars me from sleep.

A sound.

Something that I am not familiar with.

I open my eyes and wait for them to adjust to the inky blackness of our room. They do not adjust, at least not completely. I can see the outline of my dresser. Of Bobby’s. My mind fights to identify what exactly the sound is, but something else distracts me.

Blocks me.

Freezes me.

Makes my breath sit heavy in my chest. I can hear the pulse of my heart expanding and contracting in my ear drums.

There is a woman in front of our closet, at least that’s what my eyes are allowing me to experience. Something is not right about her. The closet sits about ten feet from the bed that Bobby and I share, but somehow the woman’s feet are planted on the carpet about a foot and a half from the open mirrored slider and her head and shoulders are obscured from my sight. I can tell that she is leaning over my brother in the top bunk. I wonder to myself how the woman is able to do such a thing from such a far distance because she doesn’t look tall.

“Shhhh huuuuh,” I hear Bobby sigh, “shhhh huuuuh.”

I look again the woman’s body and realize why it doesn’t look completely impossible; the woman’s mass seems believable, but her torso has stretched across the room allowing her to do whatever she is doing to Bobby. My pulse quickens to a point that I think that my eardrums will pop right out of my head. I look at where the skin of the woman’s stomach is illuminated by a thin sliver of light from the blinds. I can’t tell for sure, but I think that her skin is scaled like a snake or lizard. The light also highlights the tiny outlines of bubbles crawling down the center of her torso. They remind me of crawling spiders or one of those Discovery Channel specials that shows a snake swallowing its prey.

“Shhhh huuuuh. Shhhh huuuuh.”

And then the gravity sets in.

This thing is going to kill Bobby.

And then.

It might decide to kill me too.

“B–,” I begin. I feel the pressure in the room increase. My ears pop and for a second I think that my eardrums did pop out of my head, just like I thought they would.

The woman’s body stills completely. The room silent save for Bobby.

“Shhhh huuuuh. Shhhh huuuh. Shhhh hu—“

And then it was silent.

I close my eyes.

“B–“ I take a deep breath, “Bobby?”

I open my eyes and the woman is over me now. Her piebald skin glistens in the slivers of light; like the underbelly of a toad. I am drawn to her mouth that is opened wide. I see the glimmering hint of tiny teeth that look like sewing needles. Beyond them is darkness. The kind that can be felt in the heart and the bones and the soul just as much as it can be seen with the eyes.

I am completely paralyzed now.

At the mercy of this thing that had done something terrible to my brother.

To Bobby.

Unable to move my body, I force myself to look the thing in the eyes. When I do, all I am met with is more darkness. Two tiny mouths with the same little sewing needle teeth stare back at me.

Into me.

And then, somehow, I scream.