Tuesday, May 14, 2013

A Regency Serial Killer

When I started writing Captive Hearts in 2005 I had it in my head I wanted to try something different in my book than the Regency Romances I had read.  Most of the Regencies I'd read at that period were light fare. Drawing room dramas with romantic conflicts that though entertaining were not dark. I wanted to write a DARK Regency.With touches of humor here and there.

I wracked my brain for several days trying to figure out what kind of story line I could do that would satisfy my suspenseful craving. And decided I needed a serial killer.

I had just read several books on Jack the Ripper. One of the best I've read to date is titled THE COMPLETE JACK THE RIPPER CASEBOOK BY DONALD RUMBLELOW Rumblelow is a retired Scotland Yard Detective and I was fascinated by his book. It goes into depth how the lower class lived during that period, what London was like, and of course the murders there in White chapel. (It is not available on kindle but is in print and well worth the read.)

Though the Jack the Ripper killings happened in the Victorian Era instead of the Regency I thought--what if I create the first Regency serial killer. Thus Jamie was born. 

Jamie loves to love the ladies---to death. And he has a propensity for being very brutal about it.
His mother was a prostitute.  She was thrown out of her parent's home when she became pregnant and had to take up the profession to feed herself and her child. Then took to drink to assuage the pain of her circumstances.

Jamie is a product of that environment and already has a brutal attitude toward women,  but what encourages his addiction is his father's influence. Garret Drake comes into his life when he's twenty. Jamie's mother has long since died and he has lived on the street for most of his life and done whatever he had to do to survive. But Jamie has something special that helps him feed his dark cravings. He has charm and has inherited his father's handsome bearing and intense green eyes.

Drake is the man who got Jamie's mother pregnant, then disappeared. And he does have moments of regret about that. But instead of taking Jamie off the streets, and attempting to control him, Drake encourages his son's brutality and attempts to use it to his benefit. He is both revolted and fascinated by Jamie. Instead of writing the scenes in which Jamie is at his worst or his best, which ever your perspective may be, I wrote them from Drake's point of view.Which added a small interesting twist to the whole relationship, or at least I think so.

How would a real father feel about watching his son murder? But we're not talking about a normal father, but one who has climbed the social ladder as a business man and been accepted into some of societies most powerful people's homes. He has his finger in several businesses ventures tied to the upper class, but he wants MORE. He craves the excitement of the underworld his son lives in and he wants to harness it for his own advantage.

But Jamie is still his son. And in his own dark twisted way, Drake does care about him.

It will be up to you, the reader, to tell me if I did their relationship justice. And which of them is the worst or the best villain--amongst all the other villains in the book. And there are several. 

I hope you'll give Captive Hearts a try so you can tell me.



Read On,
Teresa Reasor





Wednesday, May 1, 2013

THERE'S A WHOLE LOT A SHAKIN' GOING ON AND A FREE READ!

I've been very, very busy this month. I did a 1000 and 1000 challenge with Kerry Nelson of writing 1000 words a day and reading 1000 words a day.  The reading part is never a challenge. I read over 1000 words every day anyway. But the writing 1000 words is a little more work.  By the end of the month, I had done 21,500 words. I had broken the 32,000 word mark on my latest SEAL book and I've written 4500 words on the next short story in my To Capture A Highlander's Heart short story series.  So I'm closer to 25,000 total.

I'm determined to break that 1000 words a day thing though. So, that is going to be my goal for the month. Write at least 35,000 words for the month.

I'm on the down hill slide of finishing my 10th year with Eastern Kentucky University. I teach Art Appreciation at one of the satellite colleges here in Kentucky.  




Next, I have just re-released my Scottish Historical Romance HIGHLAND MOONLIGHT. If you haven't read it here's the blurb:

-->
Seduced and shamed by Alexander Campbell, the warrior to whom she is betrothed, Lady Mary Mac Lachlan flees to the Campbell stronghold of Castle Lorne and demands sanctuary from Alexander's father.

Though Alexander seduced Mary for her own protection and his men's, his actions have greater repercussions than expected. His betrayal destroys Mary's trust and his belief in himself as a man of honor. Determined to heal the breach, and claim Mary--who now carries his heir--as his wife, he follows her to Lorne and finds himself brought before a council of arbitration on charges of rape.

When Collin Mac Lachlan, Mary's father tries to coerce her into testifying against Alexander, Mary refuses. But when violence threatens to break out between their clans, Mary is forced to wed him to fulfill their betrothal agreement and save him from the executioner.

Amid the hostilities between their clans and the wounds inflicted on her heart, can Mary find the love and happiness she's always craved or will she discover she's been chasing a dream as illusive as Highland Moonlight?

I'm so thrilled with the cover and the book. It was amazing revisiting the story and revamping the dialogue. I'm very proud of it.




Next project will be to complete the edits for my book Captive Hearts.  I got the rights back for it as well and I'm doing rewrites, edits, and have a brand new cover for it. I think my cover artist Tracy Stewart from SIMPLY BOOKISH has done a fantastic job!!!   


SO HERE'S THE COVER REVEAL FOR CAPTIVE HEARTS !!!



AND THE BLURB: 

-->
Bent on seeing her family's murderers caught, Lady Katherine Leighton strikes a bargain with Captain Matthew Hamilton. They will wed just long enough for her to shed her uncle's hampering control and pursue the investigation her uncle refuses
to undertake.

Betrayed by one woman, Matthew doesn't trust the English beauty who offers him freedom from prison in exchange for wedding vows, but knowing it is his only escape, he agrees to the arrangement. From the moment their lips meet to seal the vows, a passion ignites between them they are eager to ignore.

When the savage highwaymen who killed her family come after Katherine, Matthew feels honor bound to keep her safe. But Katherine wants more than his honorable intentions. She wants his love…And she’s willing to fight to get it.

 CAPTIVE HEARTS WILL BE RELEASED LATER THIS MONTH!!!

ALSO TO CAPTURE A HIGHLANDER'S HEART : THE BEGINNING HAS GONE FREE ON AMAZON, BARNES AND NOBLE, KOBO, APPLE, SMASHWORDS. SO BE SURE TO GET YOUR FREE DOWNLOAD. THE SECOND SHORT STORY IN THE SERIES IS LONGER AND ALSO HOTTER. IT WILL BE TITLED: TO CAPTURE A HIGHLANDER'S HEART: THE COURTSHIP.  I'LL KEEP YOU POSTED WHEN IT'S BEING RELEASED.


  TO CAPTURE A HIGHLANDER'S HEART : THE BEGINNING HAS GONE FREE ON AMAZON, BARNES AND NOBLE, KOBO, APPLE, SMASHWORDS. SO BE SURE TO GET YOUR FREE DOWNLOAD. THE SECOND SHORT STORY IN THE SERIES IS LONGER AND ALSO HOTTER. IT WILL BE TITLED: TO CAPTURE A HIGHLANDER'S HEART: THE COURTSHIP.  I'LL KEEP YOU POSTED WHEN IT'S BEING RELEASED.

Tired of loving Gabriel Campbell from afar, shy lady’s maid, Grace MacNab announces her interest by showing him what she has to offer—her heart.
Taken unaware, Gabriel dismisses her feelings as a temporary infatuation.
Can Grace make him see the woman she is—and win his love? Or will he hold on to past perceptions and deny the passion between them.
(This is a short story of 3066 words)



My Paranormal Steampunk Story AN AUTOMATED DEATH  is available for 99 cents at Amazon.  So check it out. It's 14000 words. And a very unusual story.

HERE'S THE BLURB: After his wife’s death, clockmaker Alan Cartwright focuses all his energy on his work and his eight-year-old son, Brenton. Father and son bond by building a lifelike automaton, designed to resemble Brenton in looks and talent: The boy is an extraordinary artist. Before the automaton is finished, Brenton is run over and killed by a carriage driven by Sir William Tyndale, a decorated soldier and knight who lost his own wife and son during service in India. The accident leads to strange occurrences and an unholy obsession.

The automaton comes to life, communicating with Alan through written messages and drawings of the past and the future. Alan is convinced Brenton’s spirit possesses the machine and refuses to sell it. Sir Tyndale sees the likeness of his own dead son in the device and is determined to have it by any means.

Driven by grief and fatherly love, the two men are set on a collision course with the soul of a young boy trapped between them, and Brenton's reasons for possessing the automaton a mystery to them both.

This book has two endings, one dark, one light. Which makes it even more unusual.




And don't forget about TIMELESS  my paranormal romantic Suspense set in Scotland.
IT'S 139,000 WORDS FOR $2.99. A real bargain.
 Here's the blurb: 
Archaeology student, Regan Stanhope, lands the chance of a lifetime when she’s chosen to work on a summer dig in Loch Maree, Scotland. The ancient monoliths hidden beneath the loch are the most important discovery since Stonehenge. And for seven hundred years, they have been waiting—for her.

Saturation diver Quinn Douglas is contracted to recover some of the megaliths from the loch’s bottom. The job will breathe life into the struggling salvage business he and his brothers are building. But from the moment he arrives, Quinn is plagued by dreams and feelings from a past he did not live. Or did he?

Regan and Quinn are drawn to each other as they research the monoliths and the reason behind their shared visions. But both sense something mystical at work, delving into their minds, manipulating their emotions. And when they finally discover the monoliths’ extraordinary secret, they know they must seal them away from those who are desperate to unlock their power. Even if it means remaining caught in a timeless struggle between the past and present forever.
I thought I'd start releasing small excerpts of my NEXT Navy SEAL book  BREAKING AWAY next month. And see what you  think. 
Read On,
Teresa J. Reasor 


Monday, April 15, 2013

Highland Moonlight : The Author's Cut /Cover Reveal

In 2007,  I accepted my first contract with The Wild Rose Press and my Scottish Medieval Romance, HIGHLAND MOONLIGHT  was released.  I've recently gotten the rights back to Moonlight and done revisions, rewrites, and updated the cover.  I'm calling it The Author's Cut because it's a new version of the book.

 In honor of it's pending release, I'm revealing the cover. My BEAUTIFUL, GORGEOUS, EXCELLENT NEW COVER!! Done by my wonderful cover artist,  Tracy Stewart (Yes that's a Scottish Name which is very appropriate.) She is the  owner of a one stop shopping, everything you could need for your book company called  Simply Bookish, 

And also Tracy was able to find a picture of the castle I wrote about, dreamed about, and studied while I wrote the book and we have put it on the cover. The castle is Kilchurn Castle in Scotland, now a ruin but in the day.... It is located in Argyll and Bute, Scotland.

It was actually constructed in 1450 (a little more than a 100 years after my story) by Sir Colin Campbell and at one time had a defended curtain wall. There are times when the castle is actually surrounded by water when the loch rises and the only access is by boat. And for a time the land access was cut off completely when the Scottish government deemed it too dangerous to walk over the railroad tracks to reach the castle, leaving the loch the only way to reach it. They have built a viaduct restoring land access to the castle now.
But as always when I speak of Scotland I digress....

So here it is, The New Cover for  HIGHLAND MOONLIGHT!!



I'll be sending out updates as to the date of release!!!

Read on,

Teresa Reasor


Tuesday, April 2, 2013

To Capture A Highlander's Heart: The Beginning is FREE!!!









This week I published my Scottish medieval short story, To Capture A Highlander's Heart: The Beginning. It is a spin off story tied to Highland Moonlight my first published book,which will soon be rereleased with a new cover, new line edits, and rewrites.

To Capture a Highlander's Heart: The Beginning is the first story of a trilogy tied to Highland Moonlight. The next one will be To Capture A Highlander's Heart: The Courtship-- already in the works.  And the third story will be To Capture A Highlander's heart: The Wedding Night.


 I set the short story for Free on Smashwords. And it's available at Barnes and Noble and Amazon. It's available at KOBO and Apple as well. All Free. 

I hope you'll check it out.

Read on,
Teresa J. Reasor 

Sunday, March 24, 2013

Getting Caught in the Act

I'm taking  a wonderful workshop called The Book Factory. Our instructor Kerri Nelson , a multi published author, is wonderful!!! I'm enjoying the class very much.

She posted a few writing prompts and I worked on one of them in fifteen minute intervals until I got it finished. It turned out so well I thought I'd post it here for everyone to read.

-->
With three kids in the house, a love life is darn near impossible. The only lip action you get is when one of the kids back talks you. The one and only time our son caught my husband and I in a clinch, he gagged so hard I thought he’d swallowed his gum and was choking to death.
All of us have different schedules. Since we have a child in each school one in elementary, one in junior high and one in high school all three kids have different activities they attend—simultaneously of course.  With only two cars in the family and two responsible adults acting as cabbies and spectators, we don’t even get to have a quiet conversation in the car, unless you count cell phone calls to discuss what fast food we can pick up for dinner on the way home.
My children are healthy, happy, well adapted teenagers and they each have a life. But Jimmy, my husband, and I have none. In fact, parenthood has pretty much become a time suck.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I love my children. If I had to throw myself between them and a moving car, I’d gladly do it. I carried them for nine months, and suffered through long, slow, painful labors to bring them into the world. I have a lot invested in these three, emotionally, physically, and financially. Certainly too much to give them away. But of late I’ve begun to wonder when this hamster wheel is going to stop so I might eventually get off.  Forgive the pun.
Yes, I’m talking about sex.  They say it’s like riding a bicycle and that once you learn how, you never forget. But I have to tell you, the memories have grown p-r-e-t-t-y cloudy. We’re talking sand storm in the desert, a fog bank across a pacific coast bay, the ash cloud following a volcanic eruption cloudy.
My hubby and I have become so obsessed with doing for the kids, that we’ve forgotten about doing each other. After eight hours at work, four hours at whatever function the kids have and all the other responsibilities of a household, we both seem to tumble into bed and die.
So, I’ve made a decision. It’s Thursday, and technically a school night, but this gal is tired of waiting her turn. A turn that never comes. Tonight the kids are going to a movie and hubby and I are going to have a romantic evening at home. Or at least two hours. End of discussion.

***

The kids came in about five-thirty from soccer practice, gymnastics and piano lessons. They were all able to catch rides home so I could actually cook dinner tonight. As they were stuffing their faces I asked, “How would you guys like to go to that new Hunger Games movie?”
All three were concentrating on their food.
“Sure” Kelly, our son, said without pausing. “I’ll call Chad and see if he wants to go too.”
“I meant tonight. It’s just come out and I thought you guys might want to go.”
Every one paused, forks in midair for at least three seconds. “It’s a school night,” Adriana our youngest said.
Now I know we’ve become extremely regimented as far as the rules go. We insist on every scrape of homework being done, before the kids go out with their friends. And they very rarely do anything on a school night, outside their extra curricular activities. (who needs anything extra with ballgames of some sort three days a week.) I can’t see how they’d have time without it affecting their grades.  Thus the rule. But I was desperate for some alone time with my husband. And at this point desperation breeds, a bending of the rules.
“You guys have been doing so well in school and keeping up with things around here, so, I thought I’d treat you.”
“I have a test tomorrow,” Adriana said.
Kelly and Sophie’s head snapped in her direction so fast I thought I heard bones crack. Had their eyes been laser beams, she’d have been a cinder.
“The movie will be over at nine and that will give you an hour to study before you have to hit the hay.”
A smile flitted across her features and I knew she’d mentioned the test out of pure devilment to torment her siblings. “I studied in study hall today, so I think I’ll do fine.”
“Good.” I breathed a sigh of relief.
Jimmy wandered in from work. He made a quick trip to the bedroom to shake free of his suit and tie. He returned wearing jeans and a t-shirt.
“The kids are going to the movies,” I announced as he joined us at the table.
“Tonight?”
“Yes. I thought they’d been keeping their noses to the grindstone and deserved a treat. The new Hunger Games movie is on at the Cinema.”
 He raised his brows but didn’t say anything. My husband is good about reading between the lines and though he may not have understood why the kids were going, he knew better than to argue about it in front of them.
The kids finished up in record time and left the table to get ready to go.
“Did I miss something?” Jimmy asked as soon as they were gone.
“Yes, you did. If you’re very, very good, you might just get lucky tonight,” I announced as I rose to clear my plate from the table.
The slow grin that spread across his face almost wiped away the lines of exhaustion that marked the outer corners of his eyes and bracketed his mouth.  He’d been working sixty and seventy hour weeks and doing things with the kids. “What do I have to do?”
“Think positive thoughts while I shove the kids out the door and take a shower.”
He laughed and caught me about the waist. I set aside the dinnerware and bent to give him a quick kiss and a cuddle. He nuzzled my breasts and I brushed back the dark hair at his temple liberally sprinkled with gray. He looked so tired. The phone rang— and rang, and when it became apparent none of the kids were going to answer it, I tugged free and grabbed it.
It was for him. With a sigh, I passed it on to him and left him talking business while I shepherded the kids out to the car.
Kelly, having just gotten his license about a week ago, was hyped about driving to the movies. It was only three miles from the house. I gave him the required cautions and reminded him to take his time, then handed him the keys.
As he was backing out of the drive, I wondered if I should follow them in the car just to be sure they arrived safely. I fought the urge and watched the car progress down the street and turn the corner.
Returning to the kitchen, I found Jimmy had left his meal and had gone into his office. His voice droned on in a discussion about water table studies and other things engineers understand and we lay people don’t. I cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher and left Jimmy’s meal in the microwave for him to reheat.
I jumped in the shower and washed away the stress of the day. I work as a nurse in a doctor’s office and I know I’ve seen at least a hundred and fifty patients today. I lathered my hair and washed it as well. It only took a few minutes to wrap up in my robe and blow-dry my hair.  
As I stepped out of the bedroom the luscious quietness of the house settled around me. I wandered down the hall, through the living room and pushed open the door to Jimmy’s office. He lay on the couch, a sheet of paper in his hand and soft snores emitting from his open mouth.
I almost groaned aloud in frustration, then thought about how tired he’d looked at the dinner table and hadn’t the heart to wake him. I tiptoed out and shut the door.
After shucking the robe and putting on my usual gown, I settled at the kitchen table with a cup of tea. It wasn’t that I was hungry for—sex. It was that I felt Jimmy and I had lost track of each other because we were so busy keeping responsible track of our kids. I just wanted a few moments to feel close to him. 
Ten minutes later the kids came in.
“What happened?” I asked.
“They sold out. You wouldn’t believe the crowd,” Sophie complained.
“Well, you can go tomorrow night.”
Jimmy appeared at the office door, yawning and stretching. “Is the movie over already?”
“We never got to go. The place was packed and we couldn’t get a ticket. We’ll go tomorrow,” Kelly answered.
Jimmy’s gaze met mine. With a small deprecating smile, he shook his head.
The kids scattered, two to their rooms and Kelly to settle in front of the television in the living room.
Jimmy crooked his finger at me and I rose to follow him into the office. “Why didn’t you wake me?” he asked.
“You were tired, and besides the kids came home just a few minutes later.”
He gathered me close and I rested my cheek against his chest. He rested his chin atop my head. “I have an idea. I’ll be right back.”
He returned with his car keys.
“I’m not dressed,” I complained.
“We’re not going far.”
He led me into the garage and opened the passenger door of his car and motioned me in. Then jogged around to get in.
He hit the garage door opener and backed the car out.
“Where are we going?”
“How long has it been since you went parking?”
I laughed. “Not since you and I went a hundred years ago when we were young and stupid.”
“I’m glad to hear it. No one ever comes down to the end of the cul-de-sac.”
“You hope.” Was he serious?
He pulled around the edge of the circular drive and pointed the headlights into the woods. But where the streetlight at the end could shine into the car enough for us to see one another. He turned off the ignition. “So tell me what’s bothering you.”
Would he think I was awful? An uncaring mom? A selfish bitch? Shit! Once I’d wrested with my guilt, it all came out in a rush. “I miss us. I miss us having time alone, and energy to make love, and just us without the constant interruption of the kids. I mean—we can’t even carry on a conversation without someone butting in to tell us some insignificant thing, or ask for permission to do that, or do this. I’m tired of middle school dance team, and soccer practice and basketball, gymnastics and piano recitals, and you name it. Our kids social lives have become ours.”
“Is that all?”
“Well, yeah. Well, no. We both fall into bed so exhausted and just go to sleep. I want sex. I haven’t had sex in four weeks and three days and I want it.”
He laughed. One of those throw your head back, stomach shaking, laughs that make everyone else smile. When he’d finally regained control, he shoved open the door, then came around to my side of the car to open mine. He offered me his hand. If he thought I was going to make love in the woods and get poison ivy or something he was insane.
Once I’d gotten out, he slipped into my seat and pulled the lever at the front to push the seat back as far as it would go. He hit the other lever and lowered the back of the seat so he was almost reclined. “As I remember from the last time we tried this, you kept hitting the steering wheel and blowing the horn.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I didn’t realize you had thought about our one and only experience long enough to work out the kinks.”
He smiled as he unzipped his pants and wiggled them down. “You’re not the only one who hasn’t had sex in four weeks and three days.”
I was suddenly aware of the streetlight and the dome light inside the car being on and my husband exposed to the world. I did the only thing I could—I climbed on board and shut the door.
Maybe the memories weren’t all that cloudy after all. Because once we’d worked out a few logistical things, we seemed to do quite well. It was a good thing it was summer because the windows would have been steamed up. We’d just finished and were cuddling in a shared post coital bliss when headlights approached behind the car.  I scrambled into the drivers seat so fast I’m sure I bruised sensitive parts of my body on the parking break and I know I saw stars when I hit my elbow on the steering wheel.
Jimmy laughed out loud as he pull up his jeans and arrange his shirt overtop his unbuttoned fly.  I turned the key to battery and rolled the window down half way expecting to see a police officer approaching the car at any moment.
A lone voice came from the back of the car. “Dad?”

I laid my head down on the steering wheel, my shoulders shaking with laughter. You can run, but you can't  hide.
Jimmy zipped up and opened the door. He leaned out into the light. “Your mom and I will be home in ten minutes, Kelly. Hold down the fort okay?”
I heard the words important phone call from one of Jimmy’s partners.
“We’ve done this to ourselves, you know,” he said as he leaned back in the seat and closed the door. “We’ve made them into responsible people—well mostly, for now.”
“If they’re so responsible then maybe we can take an evening now and then for just us,” I suggested.
He leaned over and brushed a kiss across my cheek. “We’ll try the back seat next time.”



If you enjoyed this story— check out some of my published work on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, Kobo, and ect. 





 







             
                     BREAKING FREE         

 I've recently gotten my rights back to Highland Moonlight and Captive Hearts my two Historical Romances.  And I will be rereleasing them shortly.   Their currently getting new covers and I've done rewrites and have sent both books to an editor. Be sure to look for upcoming announcements about these books!!!

Teresa Reasor 

Monday, March 18, 2013

Excerpt for An Automated Death




An Automated Death was published March 13th, 2013.  And I thought I'd post an except from the book for those who are interested. The story has two endings. One dark and one light.  I've published the story with them both. 

Here's the excerpt:

Automaton: A non-electronic machine that mimics the movements of an animal or a human.  A nineteenth century robot.

London, England, 1863
Rain clouds rolled in over London, bringing with them a gray tinged afternoon light that struggled to penetrate the shop’s plate glass windows. Alan Cartwright turned up the wick on the oil lamp and moved it closer to the mechanism he worked on. Despite the gas lamps lining the interior walls, working on the small fittings of the automaton required additional light. The wooden clock cabinets and music boxes he built gleamed in the warm glow, their brass fittings sparkling gold. The smell of freshly cut wood and machine oil hung in the air.
“What comes next, Papa?” Brenton asked.
Alan smiled at his eight-year-old son’s interest in the automaton. Since his mother’s death two months before, the boy had been withdrawn and shown little interest in anything but his drawings. In the hope of distracting Brenton from his grief, Alan had decided to finish the machine. They worked on it together each afternoon after school.
“Next we attach the cylinders,” Alan explained. “The pins in them designate the movements for the automaton’s arm and hand.” He popped the large brass cylinder with its circular cams into place. “Why don’t you do this one?” He offered Brenton the long tube.
Too short to reach into the framed box that held the automaton’s parts, Brenton stepped upon a stool, and taking the heavy cylinder in hand, laid it into the side axles.
“Good,” Alan leaned over the contraption and tapped on the lock rings that secured the pieces to the gears and springs that would drive it.
He glanced up to see Brenton straightening the wooden puppet’s shirt. The body of the machine, hidden by the shirt, was fashioned from thin strips of brass. Heavier brass fixtures, when attached to the cylinder in the base and to its spring-driven motor, would move the shoulder and arm and allow it to draw.
Brenton’s dark brows drew together in a frown, and his lips puckered in thought. “He looks like me, Papa.”
“I suppose he does a bit.” His son was the most important person in his life. Who else’s face would he have given the automaton?
Brenton touched the puppet’s small wooden writing desk . “Will he draw much better than I do?” Brenton asked with a downward tilt to his lips.
In truth, Brenton was a gifted child. His teacher had commented that, in her opinion, he was drawing as well as or better than some of the artists whose work she’d seen. She was in awe of his talent, as was Alan.
“No. I’ve patterned what he draws from your work, Brenton. The cams I’ve created will guide his hand to copy your drawings. And he’ll only be able to draw four pictures. You’ll be able to draw hundreds.”
The frown clouding Brenton’s face cleared, and he smiled. “I want to be a famous artist when I grow up.”
Alan’s throat tightened. Did the resurgence of his son’s hopes for the future signal he was setting aside some of his grief? He hoped so. He laid a hand on Brenton’s frail shoulder. “Aye, so you’ve told me. If an artist is what you wish to be, and you work hard, you will be the most famous artist London has ever known.”
Brenton’s expression was earnest. “I will work very hard.”
Alan gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You already do. If you sweep up the sawdust at the back of the shop, we’ll walk down the street to Cotter’s for a hard candy when I’m finished here.”
Brenton’s smile broke forth. “Excellent! I’ll do it now.”
A smile lingered on Alan’s face as he made some adjustments to the position of the larger of two cylinders. He studied the brass fittings he had created for the machine. It represented some of his best work. He was certain the piece, if it worked, would sell as a novelty to a rich patron. But it would sadden him to see it go. After all the time-consuming work he’d poured into it, the temptation to keep it was strong. But the bills which had accumulated during Arietta’s brief illness, and her funeral, weighed upon his mind. He had to do what was best for Brenton, no matter the cost to himself.
He rested his hand atop the automaton’s head.  The puppet’s dark hair was incised into the wood and painted with streaks of dark brown with a hint of red. The pale blue eyes stared downward at an angle, as though looking at something on the table. Alan had designed it so it would appear that the puppet was looking at the drawing it was creating. The gears inside the body would move the arm and head so it would not only look like the little boy was drawing, but would also create a reproduction of one of Brenton’s works.
It had been Arietta’s idea to make the machine’s face a likeness of Brenton’s. She’d called it a tribute to their son. The sale of the piece was to fund his future. And now it would go to pay for the end of hers.
A wave of grief rolled over Alan, so intense his knees threatened to buckle. Tears burned his eyes, and he squeezed his lids closed in an attempt to stave them off. At the sound of Brenton’s return, he bent over the automaton for one last check of the day’s work and to give himself time to regain his composure.
“I’m finished, Papa.”
With an effort, Alan beat back his grief and forced a smile as he turned to face Brenton. “Good. We must hurry and get your treat before the rain starts. Go upstairs and get your coat.” As the boy ran upstairs, Alan strode down the center aisle between the wooden tables holding clocks in need of repair, and music boxes waiting for their last layer of stain. He folded down the sleeves of his shirt and fastened the cuffs, then, lifting his coat from a peg by his desk, slipped it on. He smiled at the sound of Brenton’s pounding steps overhead. He was such an easy child to please. And so very bright.
Alan locked the shop door behind them and turned to face the busy thoroughfare of Oxford Street. The wind whipped between the buildings, kicking up dirt and carrying with it the blended smells of fresh baked bread from a nearby bakery and horse manure. The wide, cobbled street was congested with buggies and coaches, steam-powered buses and phaetons conveying their passengers home before the storm. Dark gray clouds reflected in the plate glass windows of the surrounding shops, as though the storm had taken root at street level. Alan’s grasp on Brenton’s hand tightened.
Cotter’s Confections waited at the end of the block. Eager to be there, Brenton skipped beside him. “I think I will get some sugarplums, Papa. I will share them with you.”
“Why thank you. That would be kind of you,” Alan said with a laugh.
“Out of the way!” A shout came from just behind them.
Alan swiveled to look over his shoulder. The huge shape of a pale gray horse filled his vision. The animal struck him chest-to-chest, spinning him around. His head struck the sharp edge of a brick window facing. He cried out and fell to his hands and knees. The large, highly polished wheels of a buggy rolled past his face.
Stunned, he lay still, his head throbbing. “Brenton?” Alan staggered to his feet and braced a hand upon the wall as the world tipped and whirled. Blackness threatened to overtake him, and he shook his head. When his vision cleared, he saw the small form that lay crumpled face-down just beside him on the sidewalk.
“Brenton!” Fear chocked him, strangling his cry to a whisper. He stumbled forward and fell to his knees next to his son. Grasping his shoulder, he eased the boy onto his back. Blood colored his son’s lips with scarlet and ran in thin rivulets from his nose and ears. Alan placed his hand on the little chest and, feeling no movement, pressed an ear to his torso. The brittle thrust of broken bones jabbed against his cheek. Brenton’s heart lay still and silent.
Agony poured through Alan, stealing his breath, as though the horse’s hooves had pulverized his heart to mash. “Brenton!” The cry burst from him and climbed to a high-pitched wail. He gathered his son’s body close and rocked, his pain too much to contain.
The sky opened up in a torrent. And the rain blended with the tears that streamed unheeded down Alan Cartwright’s face.


Hope you enjoyed the Excerpt. You can download the story at Barnes and Noble, Amazon, or Smashwords.

Read on,
Teresa Reasor 

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

An Automated Death: A Steampunk Short Story IT'S LIVE!!!


AN AUTOMATED DEATH IS LIVE!!!  IT'S AVAILABLE AT AMAZON FOR NOW AND WILL BE AVAILABLE AT BAND N SMASHWORDS APPLE AND ECT. SOON!!

MY COVER IS GORGEOUS!!! My cover art was done by
BrittanyWeigle (akaBita)  from: http://www.simplybookish.com 

Here's the blurb:
 
After his wife’s death, clockmaker Alan Cartwright focuses all his energy on his work and his eight-year-old son, Brenton. Father and son bond by building a lifelike automaton, designed to resemble Brenton in looks and talent: The boy is an extraordinary artist. Before the automaton is finished, Brenton is run over and killed by a carriage driven by Sir William Tyndale, a decorated soldier and knight who lost his own wife and son during service in India. The accident leads to strange occurrences and an unholy obsession.

 
The automaton comes to life, communicating with Alan through written messages and drawings of the past and the future. Alan is convinced Brenton’s spirit possesses the machine and refuses to sell it. Sir Tyndale sees the likeness of his own dead son in the device and is determined to have it by any means. 

Driven by grief and fatherly love, the two men are set on a collision course with the soul of a young boy trapped between them, and Brenton's reasons for possessing the automaton a mystery to them both.


An Automated Death IS AVAILABLE NOW!!!!

Teresa J. Reasor