Episode 1: Blood Rain
Episode 1: Blood Rain
The Publish and Die Protocol-Fiction Series
The elderly man switched on his night lamp and got out of bed. His wife was still sound asleep beside him.
It was a wet wintry night and the moon was hidden behind the dark clouds. It was cold and damp as the rains continued for the sixth consecutive day.
The weather was now more unpredictable since the levels of pollution had increased over the last few decades.
Joseph Foxxen had heard a noise in the night, it came from the ground floor of his home.
It sounded like someone was prowling around in the darkness.
He had checked every door and window before he went to bed. He always checked to make sure that the house was secure after a fox had invaded their home years ago when the children were young.
There were several reports in the news about thieves in the city.
The crime levels were on the rise in a city that used to be safe at one time and where people could keep their front doors open.
Joseph was well aware of the reports and the statistics of the rise in crimes. This was common in all modern cities.
He had wanted to keep a gun at home to protect himself and his wife Doris. However, Doris his peace-loving wife was against keeping a gun or any type of fire-arm at home.
Joseph picked up the long metal rod he kept just behind the bedroom door. The rod was used as a curtain rod a few years ago, it was now his weapon of choice. Joseph was a tall man who was an athlete in his youth. He was now in his eighties and not as young and fit as he used to be.
He was not afraid of what or who he was going to confront in the night. This was his house, his castle and no one had the right to invade his home. He opened the door of their bedroom and crept downstairs, hoping that the person or persons would not hear him coming down the stairs.
The wooden floorboards seemed to sink under his feet, so he tried to walk on the carpeted areas of his home, so as to muffle the sound of his footsteps. As he came down the stairs he saw the lights in his study-room were on. There was definitely a burglar on the premises.
He moved as soundlessly as he could into the room, he saw a man going through his large bound investigative journal on the crime empire which he kept on his desk.
The place was a disaster zone and everything was thrown on the floor. Grandfather’s books, manuscripts, and papers were all thrown around in the room. It looked as if a cyclone had hit the study. All he needed to do was to hit the intruder on the back of his head.
Joseph was not prepared for what happened next, it was too quick for him to react. The man turned around in a swift movement. The intruder was wearing a mask and he had a gun in his hand. At that instant, Joseph wished he had a gun to defend himself. This was not an ordinary burglar this man was an assassin and he was the target.
It was too late for Joseph as the man raised his gun and Joseph saw the bullet come straight towards him.
There could be a body lying hidden somewhere in this place, I thought to myself.
The room was overcrowded. There were books and papers everywhere. The floor could not be seen. There was not enough space to walk through the room to get to the window. Somehow, Grandma managed to open that window every morning since Grandfather passed away tragically a year ago when he surprised a burglar at home.
There were books everywhere you looked. The room resembled a study, a library, or a publishing house in disarray.
It must have been a year since my Grandfather passed away. I was very close to my Grandfather and I can still clearly remember all the stories he would tell us about his years in the war when we were growing up as children. Grandpa Joe was always hammering away on his old Remington typewriter. Grandma always complained about the stacks of scrapbooks, manuscripts, notes, and piles of papers which he would stack in all corners of the bedroom, the living room, and there were even a few mounds of books climbing their way up to the ceiling.
Grandpa Joe had so many stories to tell us as we were growing up, some were fairy tales, some were science fiction, and some were great thrillers. The ideas and the way he would tell the stories were really interesting and very inspiring. Grandpa was also a regular storyteller at the local Junior School, where he would conduct his Creative Expressions English Classes. The children loved Grandpa Joe “The Storyteller”.
I was now visiting my Grandma at home. I looked around the house and noticed that nothing was removed in the house, all the books, papers, and stacks of manuscripts were still lying around in every corner of the home. I felt a great sadness well up inside me, as I wondered to myself what would happen to all Grandpa’s writings, no one would ever see them or even know they existed.
Grandma came with a warm cup of tea and a tray of homemade muffins for me.
“Richard, how is the family?”, asked Grandma Doris, “your sister Mary visited me a week ago, she’s working in a publishing house.”
“They’re okay. I haven’t spoken to Mary in a while,” I said
“Yes, I know you both had a falling out, but it’s time to make up. How is David doing now?” asked Grandma, “was David older than you, or was he the younger brother?”
“David’s younger than me and he’s working in Canada as a Construction Manager. He’s very successful and loves his job.”
“Are you still working at the local post office?”
“Yes, still there, grandma.”
“You had better find another job son. There is no job security working at the post office nowadays, at the rate at which the government keeps closing them down.”
“Grandma, what do you plan to do with Grandpa’s papers, books, and manuscripts?”
“I really don’t know what to do with all his papers and books. Do you have any ideas, Richard,” she asked.
“I can take them all and store them away in the corner of the study so that I can look through the manuscripts when I’m on leave from work.”
“Will you be getting any leave this Easter and Christmas?” asked Grandma
“I’ll take a few days off for my annual leave in August.”
“Richard, you can come and stay here with me for a few days, if you like. I’ll prepare your favorite dishes for you.”
“That’s a great idea, Gran,” I said giving her a hug.
“Is there anything special you’d like me to cook for you during your holidays?”
“Maybe a meatball curry and vegetable rice,” I said just dreaming about the delicious food. Grandma was a great Chef and everyone in the family loved her cooking. We had relatives and friends, from Canada, New Zealand, and Australia, who would visit my grandparents at home, just to taste Grandma’s excellent dishes. This kind old lady was always giving out her recipes to people. But, they would all come back to inform Grandma that the food did not taste the same. My Mother Liz was a great cook as well, and I guess it was all the training in cooking she got from her mother-in-law.
I decided to have a look in the old shed at the back of the house. The shed was quite old. Grandpa had all his tools stacked in one corner of the shed. In the center of the shed, was a huge pile of plastic boxes, in it were all the handwritten and typed notes as well as manuscripts of my Grandfather’s.
I went to the far end of the shed and saw large lots of books. There were so many books on fiction and reference books including some on numismatics, birds, philately, and astronomy. I started to work on this pile of books, trying to sort them out into subject categories to donate to the local library and Charity shops. Grandma came to see me working at the shed, which was quite dimly lit, with one light bulb.
“Richard, rest a bit, here, have a nice warm cup of tea, with these cookies I baked on Sunday,” said grandmother, handing me a plate of delicious-looking chocolate cookies.
I started my work in the shed after Gran went to rest. I was surprised at the number of typewriters, books, old VHS cassettes I found in the back of the shed. There were also a large number of comics and other literature which I found in storage.
A large number of the materials were spoiled in the dampness of the shed. While there were about two large bundles of books that were attacked by rodents. It was shocking to see that so many old articles in scrapbooks were soiled due to the poor damp conditions in the shed.
It was while I was going through the papers and books, that I heard a rustle behind the wooden book racks. I moved behind the book-racks to investigate. Two mice leaped out at me. I was startled though I was prepared for it, lost my balance, and fell to the floor, I was lucky to land on more old magazines. The mice scampered away into the darkness of the shed and let me get on with my work of sorting out all the mess. I was feeling very tired and went back home. I returned at the weekend when I had Saturday off from my work at the post-office.
Grandmother was happy to see me again and served me a hearty lunch. It started to rain and the sound of the rain could be heard hammering on the rooftops.
“Richard, why don’t you stay and watch something on TV till the rain stops, and then you can go to the shed to sort out more of the books,” said Gran, as she offered me another cup of tea.
“Thanks, Grandma, that’s a good idea. I will go and watch one of Grandfather’s DVDs in the living room, till the rain stops.”
Gran left me in the living room as she went to prepare some cakes for tea. I went to the living room and sat on Grandad’s big arm-chair. It was soft and comfortable. I picked up a few of the DVDs from the cabinet. I decided to watch, “Silverado,” one of my favorites. I looked at the small stand beside the cabinet and noticed a small notebook, with a list of all the stories and manuscripts written by Grandfather. It was all neatly written and would be perfect for when I needed to get all the manuscripts together and prepare them for publication.
By the time the movie ended, the rains had stopped as well. I walked down to the shed, there was red water everywhere. A can of red paint which Grandad had last used to paint a part of a kitchen wall had toppled over in the floodwaters. There was also a fresh hole in the roof of the shed, from where the water was seeping. The boxes of documents and books needed to be moved. I phoned my friend Gus, who lived close by and who had grown up with me.
“Hi Richard,” said Gus, as he walked in, he left his wet shoes at the door and wiped his feet, before walking into the house. Gus knew how strict Grandmother was with keeping the house clean.
“Here Gus, take this cloth to dry your feet,” said Grandmother.
“Grandma, Gus, and I will be working down at the shed.”
“Okay Richard, take a few bottles of coke from the fridge,” said Grandma.
Gus and I spent four hours, clearing out all the boxes of manuscripts and documents from the shed to the spare room in Gran’s house.
I spent the weekend with Grandma. She kept herself busy around the home. I would visit her whenever I could almost twice a week. I would do some shopping for her. But, Grandma was not helpless, she loved to do her own cleaning, washing, and cooking. The local Church group would visit my grandmother once a week and do some cleaning and cooking for her, especially when she was not well. When grandfather passed away she was in shock for a full week. They were very close and they doted on one another. It was a chance meeting at a country fair when they met. Grandfather would tell us the long story about how he first spotted his one true love and he rescued her when she was sitting on a large Ferris wheel which suddenly came to an abrupt halt. He was a young man of twenty, tall and strong and he was a hero as he carried the pretty girl down in his arms. Three hours later the Ferris wheel was fixed. Grandmother did not remember much of what happened that day and always said that the whole episode was very fuzzy. But, then again Grandfather was a great storyteller and everyone would be entranced hearing his enthralling stories, every evening and on cold wintry nights.
I was treated to a lot of tasty food. I used this time to go through all Grandfather’s papers, books, and manuscripts. I tallied them with the small book I had found with the list, which Grandfather had made.
Grandpa’s writings were on a variety of topics, from notes of his days in the army to genealogical research notes, to short stories and about ten fully completed manuscripts.
In his lifetime Grandpa received a lot of rejection letters from publishers. Most of the book publishers and literary agents worked for either directly or indirectly with SWAMP the largest publishers in the world. SWAMP was an acronym for Serving the World in All Market Places. When SWAMP was created over half a century ago by the President of the World Council of Commerce it had a positive vision.
The largest marketplace in the world SWAMP was now a controlling force that manipulated all sectors of world markets and even controlled over ninety percent of the professions of the world. The SWAMP Academies and Vocational training Centres were thriving institutions that trained the professionals of the future. SWAMP also received ten percent of all salaries earned by every person employed in companies owned and controlled by the company.
It was always very difficult to know who worked for SWAMP because almost everyone did it directly or indirectly. SWAMP was present everywhere and when someone would do something good in the world, they were always on the look-out for the Harbingers of evil.
The Post Office where I worked was owned and managed by SWAMP. Grandfather Joe was a carpenter and made the most beautiful cabinets. He was not a part of the SWAMP workforce and preferred to stay that way during his life. All his writings and his literary endeavors were rejected repeatedly because independent publishing was not encouraged. When there were writers making loads of money on the SWAMP marketplace, it was because it was made possible by the clever market machinations, metrics, and manipulations of SWAMP.
I needed to focus on why I was here sorting papers. I was now more than motivated to continue my work, as Grandma brought me a cup of tea. I loved drinking tea and I had a cup almost every hour a day. I know it is a bit too much, but then I guess it is an addiction, which helped me with my writing and relaxation.
Grandma had a collection of herbal teas which she liked me to taste. Some of the aromas were simply out of this world and some were horrendous.
I had developed an interest in writing and publishing. I worked as a Proof-Reader and Literary Agent part-time for a publishing firm.
The main focus in the world of publishing is on getting more readers for books and e-books. However, it now needs to shift to encouraging more authors to publish their work, while giving them the support of established publishers. It was my wish to make authors rock stars. It is about time that the work of authors is recognized and that they get rewarded for their writings.
Newsletters and e-newsletters with Book news are filled with articles on the latest bestsellers, book deals, book fairs, and appointments at publishing houses. There are a few which also report new publishing trends. What is missing from all these publishing newsletters is the opening of avenues to independent authors.
Independent authors and publishing news is absent from Publishing Newsletters. Will this change in the future? Can we only hope that there will be a meeting of minds to make a unified approach to publishing possible?
Most Independent Authors struggle to solve the puzzle of first-time authors getting unbelievable book deals with publishing houses. If the world has never heard of an author, who has no readers and no proof of having a marketable book, how is it possible for the author to secure a million-dollar book deal?
Does the answer lie with the Literary agents who have a powerful influence with Publishers in order to get the best deals for debut authors?
The manuscript that stood out for me was titled “Captive Heiress” and had to be the one I would publish first. It was the story of a young woman who was kidnapped while on her way to work as a fashion designer. The lady was divorced and had two young children. After she was kidnapped her captor gave her a drug that erased her memory. The young lady’s captor was shocked to discover that the woman he had abducted was a wealthy heiress. He married the lady and he kept trying to help her get her memory back but it was too late. She never saw her children grow up. Her memory never returned. Her husband and captor kept trying different ways to get her to remember who she was but it was too late. An impostor had claimed the fortune and her husband had lost the claim to all the wealth he could have had.
