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Kindle Scout: American Idol for Authors.

   Guess what, it's Kindle Scout campaigning time. I need you to do three things:

• 1.      Go to the Kindle Scout campaign page and look for my novel, Dwellers.
• 2.      Sign up as a Kindle Scout reader, it's free, you just use your Amazon account.
• 3.      Nominate Dwellers

   When you nominate Dwellers, you'll be giving me a chance at an Amazon contract to publish Dwellers. If I win, you'll not only have helped nominate a well deserving, quality book, but you'll also be getting Dwellers free, and straight from Amazon after it's published.

   This campaign means the world to me, so please take a minute of your precious time and click here to get started.

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  Vote for "Dwellers" by Joel T. McGrath.

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Cast Your Vote For DWELLERS.

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The Plaintive Poet: KINDLE SCOUT

The Plaintive Poet: KINDLE SCOUT: Dwellers will need your VOTES starting 10/29/14 and ending 11/28/14. Here's how it works, and yes, there's something in it for the ...

KINDLE SCOUT

Dwellers will need your VOTES starting 10/29/14 and ending 11/28/14. Here's how it works, and yes, there's something in it for the VOTERS. Power to the people!

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Who Says Comedic Timing is Difficult?

I usually don't crack up while sitting in a theater, but X-Men: Days of Future Past nailed this scene, and I snorted like a total dufus. Oh, and I noticed that Frozen's "Let It Go" is very similar to Eric Clapton's "Let It Grow."

X-MEN: Days of Future Past

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nUoBakUTTWE&feature=youtu.be


Let it Grow

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V069wWEnCys

LEGION of DWELLERS Earlier Release of Chapters 2 and 4

This first draft is dedicated to my good friend Rebecca Veight

The Underground

“What’s a grotto?” She trailed off. Her eyes instantly glanced over at the two strangers sprawled out, they handed a bottle back and forth to each other, as they talked.

One of the strangers in the room, a young male spoke up with a thick Parisian accent. “A grotto is just a glorified party room for those who don’t care to dress up to impress the aristocracy in the clubs up there.” He pointed at the ceiling. “Vive la France!” He straightened himself, saluting Killian’s shirt with the French flag painted on his chest.

“What?” Emma asked.

The young man stood from his sprawled sitting position and bowed, tipping his red beret cap. “Where are my manners? I am Maurice,” he then pointed to the young attractive, pink haired girl with a pixie cut, her head shaved on the sides and back, sitting next to him, “and this is my associate, Sophie.”

“I’m Emma, and this is my…” She looked at him, not sure he was her boyfriend, she said, “This is Killian.”

Killian glared at Maurice and Sophie from the entrance of the grotto, but remained utterly silent. He made Maurice noticeably uncomfortable with his stare, his arms crossed, and his scowl. Emma tried to put her arm around Killian, but he shrugged it off. She looked up and over at the front of his face, as Sophie’s innocently cute face hid a cunning nature which her street savvy eyes could not. Sophie pretended indifference to them, tipping the bottle up, and drinking, while subtle watching the room.

“So, you are both fellow cataphiles like us? No?” Maurice tensely grinned and twirled his beret like a steering wheel.

With his chin protruded, Killian said nothing, so Emma spoke again. “What’s a cataphile? And for goodness sake, will someone tell me what a grotto is?” Her tone, riled, it loudly vibrated off the interior walls.

Sophie took another swig and then placed the bagged bottle, scrunching it with a paper rustling, glass clang on the ground. She put her index finger to her lips. “Shhhh, they’ll here you,” she said the rest in French, “you stupid American girl.”

“Who, other people?” Emma only knew English.

Ha, she scornfully laughed. “No, the police.” She took another swig from the bottle. “They patrol some of the shallow tunnels trying to catch cataphiles like us.”

Emma shrugged her shoulders. “So.”

“So they’ll through you in jail if you’re caught down here,” Maurice said.

Sophie leaned over and kissed Maurice on the lips. The two of them shamelessly exhibited their passions as if they were the only ones in the grotto. Killian ushered Emma over toward the large, dirt stained, and shredded fabric chair across the room from Maurice and Sophie. He sat, watching as a voyeur, rubbing his pronounced chin, but he was not deriving enjoyment, he was thinking. Emma, oblivious to his expressions, hopped on his lap and began kissing him as well. She closed her eyes, as Killian teased, while rubbing his lips across hers, yet he angled his head, and inspected Sophie and Maurice who enjoyed being watched. Then, all at once, Killian broke lips, held Emma back, and pointed to an overused, dark blue backpack, flopped over on the ground next to Maurice.

“Hey, what’s in there?”

“Here?” Maurice’s eyes lit up and he too pushed Sophie to the side, flipping her off the chair entirely, as he reached for the backpack.

Emma wrinkled her nose and pouted, taking a place on the hard armrest. Sophie frowned and rolled her eyes at Maurice from the floor, locking lips only with the bagged bottle now.

“Don’t get him started.” Sophie groaned, as she wiped mouth.

Emma, now interested, leaned in their direction. “Why, what’s in there?”

Killian keenly waited, hiding his eagerness well, as Maurice opened his backpack and pulled out several random items most cataphiles carried in the tunnels. He placed in a pile, water, batteries, food, and a flashlight from out of his backpack, while digging toward the bottom.

“I’m going to be the first cataphile to kill a Dweller down here in these catacombs.” Maurice gaily said.

“Not this again.” Sophie shook her head, and then removed her button down gray shirt, revealing a black sleeveless camisole, along with an inked left arm, covered in pink tattoos from her deltoid to her elbow.

Her eyes asquint, Emma removed herself from the hard armrest and stood. “What’s a Dweller?”

“Um, uh.” Maurice scratched his scalp rapidly, with a confused look. “Let me show you.” He pulled a flask out first. “This is Holy Water.” He placed next to the outside of the bag. “And if that doesn’t work, I’ve got this beauty.” He pulled a handgun from his bag.

Emma gasped, jolting back. “Are you insane?”

“Relax, it’s safe.”

“Yeah right!”

“Here,” Maurice put it back in his bag. “Happy now? Anyway, I have this,” he flashed an old video tape. “This is proof that Dwellers exist.”

Sophie rolled her head back at him. “You only see what you want to see.”

The two of them began to argue violently in French, and then they began kissing each other’s necks. Emma put her hands on her hips, but Killian remained emotionless as a calculating onlooker.

“Hello! Can you two please stop the gross public display of affection,” she said, gesturing toward Maurice, “and you, finish what you were telling me.”

“Oh yes,” he wiped his lips, pushing Sophie off to the side again. Maurice tied his firebrick red, shoulder length dreadlocks with a white rubber band. “This is a grotto. This is a lime stone room that has evolved over the years as a hangout for cataphiles before they make the trek as deep as they can into the tunnels. When a cataphile makes it deeper than anyone else has ever been before, he tags it, as a badge of honor, which is worthy of respect.” Maurice shook a can of spray paint from his bag. “And then you take a picture or video and brag to other cataphiles about it.”

Mortals, Immortals, and Portals

“That is not why I am here.” Acuumyn knew their intentions were pure. He got up and walked over to a large, ancient stone wall in amongst the ruins, urging Revekka and Maximilian to follow him. “This is the lone reason I have come.” He pressed three small stones in coded succession along the wall, and a larger, several ton sized piece of rock ground, as it slid back and sideways on its own. Acuumyn reached inside and pulled out two separate scrolls from the large wall. Both coiled tightly, and tied with cloth in the middle, but flaring out wider at the ends. One was beige and the other was transparent, and while both were rolled securely, tied with cloth ribbons, one ribbon was blue and the other green. He then turned and handed a scroll to each of them.

“What’s this?” Maximilian asked, attempted to untie his scroll.

Acuumyn quickly put his fingers on Maximilian’s hand. “No,” he calmly said. “If the Shroud captures you or the scroll, not knowing what you have will be a benefit.”

Maximilian looked at the scroll and then up at Acuumyn. “I understand.”

“Good, now I need each of you to take the farthest route from the other until you deliver this to Caron at the castle…”

Revekka interrupted. “Have you not heard? Caron is gravely injured from his encounter with the dark lord of the Shroud, Malum.”

Acuumyn arched his neck until his chin hit his chest. “I had not heard.” His head sprung up, he looked intensely into Revekka’s eyes. “And what of my son? What of Appollos?”

Revekka stared back for an eternal second. “I don’t know.”

“He’s alright.” Maximilian nodded. “Benoit has informed me that everyone else is intact and doing well.”

Acuumyn, relieved, inhaled with renewed strength and hope. “All is not lost.” He walked through the ruins, inviting his two companions to have a seat next to him on large stones in among the Grecian relics. “Come, tell me, what have your missions revealed, what have I missed?” He patted the large stone seat in front where they should sit and face him as they spoke. “Humanity has not detected our presence. Yet we have been here since the beginning, and have fought to free them.”

Revekka and Maximilian sat down, holding a gaze at each other with an inquisitive frustration. Each waited and silently wanted the other to talk first. Neither spoke, so Acuumyn urged them to tell him once more.

“It’s gotten so much worse,” Maximilian said, breaking his silence first. He frowned and looked away and down, while he rolled his tongue inside his mouth. He had become discouraged, frustrated by his time on earth. “As you already know, the young knights who were trained to destroy the Shroud, have not only joined the dark lord, Malum, but have become a powerful force of shadow warriors, loyal only to him throughout the earth.”

“I see,” Acuumyn said, his countenance filled with regret. “Malum has bigger plans than previously thought.”

“That is not all,” Maximilian continued. “The former knights have grown powerful with the Shroud, and they do many things without conscience. They have influenced humanity on a subconscious level, spreading fear, doubt, paranoia, and hopelessness throughout the earth.” He became more aggravated when hearing his own words. “Malum has appointed certain shadow warriors as princes over many governments of the earth, to control the leaders, and their masses. Malum has spread fear even among immortals of an all knowing and almighty one referred to simply as, the first immortal, and there are even rumblings that Dwellers, once extinct, have risen again. In fact, there have been many recent disappearances in Paris, the last being a mother and her young daughter disappearing. Some say the Dwellers live under the city in a maze of catacombs…”

Acuumyn interrupted. He nodded, and took several contemplative breaths, before thanking Maximilian for his unfinished report. “I have heard all that I need. You have done well, so consider your former mission both a success and concluded at this point.” He turned his attention toward Revekka. “What of you?” He opened his hand and rubbed his chin.

First, Revekka gave a sorrowful glance at Maximilian before turning her head in Acuumyn’s direction. “All that was said is true, and more I’m afraid.”

“But you are an empath.” Acuumyn paused, raising an eyebrow. “How is it you have not become insane from the suffering you have experienced through humanity?”

Her face remained soft. Her eyes glimmered with optimism. The halfings still live, and I believe in the prophesy. Where many of the young, immortal knights failed, the halflings will triumph.”

“Is that it?” Maximilian replied with haste, shaking his head with a mocking, loud puff of air out his nostrils. “They don’t have what it takes to wipe out the Shroud’s approaching army. The immortal war is coming to earth, and you place all of your hopes on two aimless teenagers?” He scoffed

LEGION OF DWELLERS

This is a first draft release of Legion of Dwellers. You are getting the first page and part of chapter three. Enjoy.

Chance Encounters

It was late, in the early, dark hours before the approaching dawn. The once lively crowd had lulled. Most of the partygoers either had left the club on the lower east side of Paris for the night, or had fallen asleep wherever they could rest their heads. The band played a last song, as workers swept the floors while preparing to close. The trumpeter blew the loudest notes, his cheeks ballooning with redness, purposely waking the sleeping heads, rousing them to go home.

Of the handful of patrons remaining, one young man in particular, had left his slumbering girlfriend inside for a few extra minutes of rest before stumbling out into the dark street to clear his own head. With a few deep breaths of briskly chilled air, the young man began to wake from his hard nap. He looked up at the sky, what was sunny and warm earlier, was now black and unusually cool for a night at this time of year. He watched his breath crystalize upward, mixing with the air, forming clouds of fleeting vapor. He automatically glanced up and behind his shoulder as the club preemptively shut off the all the lights out front on the street where he stood, yet still, the music blared throughout the club and filtered into the mostly abandoned city lane. A worker closed the front side windows to the club, muffling the loud trumpeter’s horn. No longer feeling warm air from behind, the young man huddled his shoulder, flipped the collar of his jacket up against his neck, covering a black scorpion tattoo outlined with red ink, which stretched from his earlobe to the top of his shoulder. He vigorously rubbed his hands together, and blew warmth from his breath into them. He peeked in through the window of the door at his girlfriend, but her head remained unmoved on the tabletop, so he turned and shivered as the cool air gradually woke him.

         Across from the club, past the broad, main road, in the shadows of a long narrow street between buildings, he saw a large pile of trash move without cause. He looked back into the club once more at his girlfriend, and then trotted across the street to investigate. He crept slowly as he neared the trash pile. He paused stilly whenever it occasionally shook, nonetheless curiosity inched him forward. On the tips of his toes, he stretched his neck out in order to catch a glimpse. However, the pile of trash was heaped up, stacked too high and wide for any view around or over top. Closer he quietly shuffled his feet, stepping to the side for a full on view. The murky night, along with the shadows cast by the alley, made it nearly impossible to see, but something slouched and recessed in the dark corner on the other side of the bags of garbage.

He looked back at the club, now at a distance behind him across the street. A deep foreboding rot in his bones and uneasiness filled his chest and stomach. He readied himself to silently back away from the dark alley and toward the safety of the club. But at that moment, the clouds in the sky parted, allowing the moon to rain scattered beams of ghostly light upon the alleyway, revealing a sight so foul, his body seized and grim fear held his breath. A grotesque beast of legendary urban myth, feasted on the remains of the day’s garbage. Spiny vertebrae protruded from the beasts back. Grayish green, waxy, glossed skin gave the beast an oily appearance. It was boney and bare, with the exception of a loincloth. When the darkness parted upon the alley, a thin sliver of the moon descended in a sideways slant upon the creature’s eyes. They were large saucers, dead as coal, and devoid of emotion, as the young man saw his reflection in the beast eyes. The unworldly beast held a stare at the young man, each sized up the other. The young man’s eyes widened, as the creature’s eyes narrowed. One was prey, the other was a predator, and for a brief moment, each knew what the other one was thinking.

The beast growled with a low pitch and angled its body, springing back in a pouncing position. The young man panted heavily, refusing to blink or look away. Time seemed to slow, with each subtle movement magnified in the tense alleyway standoff. When the beastly creature growled again, the young man backed away in nervous expectation, stumbling, his feet tangled, but he remained upright, collecting his calm. However, when the monster spoke words to him, he recoiled backwards, straight legged, his body jerked off the ground, and his color blanched, draining him until only the hue of terror remained. Unconscious survival turned him around, while pure adrenaline propelled a burst of swiftness toward the club, were the boisterous music continued to play. He could still see people in the windows, sweeping, stacking chairs, and playing music.

For a moment, all he could hear was his own heart and the sound of his fearfully labored breaths. Then he heard an ominous voice from behind, yet he resisted the temptation to look back. He kept his eyes fixed on the club where his girlfriend slept. He had to make it back to her. There was no choice, nor doubt he could and would make the short distance from the alley to the club, because only a street separated them.

“Where do you think you’re going?” The creature soared like a puma with speed and power well beyond that of any human.

The young man ran from the alley. His heart thumped rapidly as he felt the beast’s nostrils huffing warm, foul breath down the back of his neck. A fleetingly smile crossed his face, for he had made it out of the alley and onto the street, but the creature pinged from one wall to another and bounded down on top of the young man’s back with ease.

“Ah!” The young man screamed as the band played the last note of the final song louder to wake the few remaining patrons before the club closed. “Help me!” He wailed, his face down, his stomach touching the ground. He reached toward the club where his sleeping girlfriend stretched and yawned, pulling her head from off the table. She looked from side to side and around the club for her boyfriend, but she did not see him, so she sat and waited.

The creature leaned on top of his back with heaviness, making simple movements impossible. Nevertheless, the young man slowly propped one elbow up and then awkwardly the other. He struggled as he crawled toward the club on his belly. Yet soon the beast easily dragged him by the ankle back into the alley. Screaming and flailing his legs, the young man frantically clawed at the street’s cold ground. Icy hooks sank into his flesh, taming him by penetrating deeply into the muscle fibers around his spine. The young man rang out a shrill cry that was accompanied by a gush of red fluid from his back. With the last of his strength, he ripped his leg from the beast’s hand and freed himself. He shouted at the club, waiting for help from anyone who might possibly hear him.

The creature ground its fangs back and forth, irritated by the young man’s resilience. It aggressively thrust a hand of razor tipped, black talons again into his back, and with one more violent push, it twisted until the young man was subdued. The young man’s head and limbs flopped down, but his eyes remained open, blankly staring at the club. The beast pulled him by the leg back into the alley, leaving a trail of bright, freshly smeared blood, disappearing into the darkness as the last song softened into silence.

Immortals

    Acuumyn turned his back and summoned an opening between distant places. A colorful vortex appeared, hidden to the world in among the Grecian ruins, and he readied himself to return from where he had come.

“Wait!” Revekka grabbed his shoulder. “Before you go through the aperture, I just want to say…” Her eyes briefly shifted downward, then back up at him, as his aguish became hers. You shouldn’t think of yourself as a failure.” She gently slid her hand off his arm.

He turned toward the vortex, glanced over his shoulder at her, giving a saddened smile, and said, “I was supposed to be the Acuumyn who established peace, security, and a utopia for earth and Eruditus, and I did fail.”

More words felt wrong, as she cradled her hands together, close to her chest, and with her neck and head downcast, her long, flowing locks tumbled slowly forward from off her back shoulders, covering her face from dispirit.

Maximilian, already flustered, advanced toward Acuumyn. “You must not lose faith now.” He shook his warlike fist.

The aperture swirled before them. Revekka lifted her head, smiling forcibly. Acuumyn turned, facing both of them one last time.

“Yes,” Revekka exclaimed joyously, waiting on encouragement. “There is always hope. I feel it with all that I am.”

“I will deliver this with power and speed.” Maximilian squeezed his hand, holding his scroll high in the air. “And then I will protect the halfings from the Shroud. I will prepare the children who were chosen by the Artifex to free this realm forever from evil.” His chest raised, he tightened his teeth and focused his eyes with uncommon resolve. “I will finish Benoit’s training as a knight, so he may lead the likes of Appollos, and Aurielle, and the precious few other Galinea that are left from the knighthood for earth’s sake.”

Acuumyn perked up. His face shined with pride, as he looked approvingly upon Maximilian before turning his attention to Revekka. “And what of you?” He asked.

“I have been gifted a vision by the Celestial Pyre,” She said. Maximilian gasped. He kneeled before her, bowing.

Acuumyn’s demeanor did not change. He wrapped his hands behind his back and reverently nodded. “The Celestial Pyre speaks to no one, or at least it has not in hundreds of years.”

“But it spoke to me,” she said, with sincerity.

Maximilian slowly lifted himself off his knees, kept quiet, and inquisitively gazed between Revekka and Acuumyn.

A tense moment passed, and then Acuumyn shook his finger at her. “You have Empathic abilities, so it stands to reason you are more sensitive to the Celestial Pyre. It is the flame that burns day and night underneath the castle, for it is the spiritual source of all life, and its symbol has given you a sign with meaning greater than what we know.” Acuumyn rubbed his chin, looking at her, while tilting his head from left to right.

“It told me to…”

Acuumyn abruptly held his hand up and stopped her. “What the Celestial Pyre showed you was for you alone.”

“Then I must give its message before I deliver this scroll.”

“Agreed,” Acuumyn simply said. “Which way does the Celestial Pyre send you?”

“To the south.”

“Then, Maximilian, you need to travel the northern most route until you reach the castle, so the two of you never come close to each other once I leave this place.”

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Yep, This About Sums It Up!

Missing Link Found! To My Series That is.

As promised, this is the cover and synopsis for my recent novel, Reign of the Shroud. This is the second to last book in the Shrouded Secrets Chronicles, and it's filled with intrigue, suspense, betrayal, and desperation. My goal has always been to write not just a book, but a true classic, and with Reign of the Shroud, I feel one step closer to that goal.

Humankind has never been more divided, and the Shroud has seized this opportunity to conquer their subjects in a never-ending reign. The perfectly immortal and clandestine Shroud is no longer content with simply controlling the minds of the masses from behind the shadows. Now these immortals seek to fulfill the purpose for which they have come— to bend and dominate all human establishments to their ultimate will.

Lord Malum, the Shroud’s amalgamist and keeper of dark truths, will reveal his hidden journal to his youthful, immortal Shadow Warriors. Deals will be granted and promises made with certain humans who pledge their allegiance to the Shroud. Meanwhile, Malum’s aberrant second-in-command, Dominic, who was once abandoned on a desert island for his ruthless, bloodthirsty appetite, will return to wage a personal vendetta against those who imprisoned him. Yet, his objective remains intact, to become the most elusive and powerful serial killer in the world by obsessively hunting mortals for sport.

As the immortal war rages onward, everything will become a device for the Shroud to hone their abilities in their quest to plunge earth into a new dark age. Once believed to be a phantom and mere manifestation of the mind, the first immortal will seduce the only teenage girl on earth who can stop him. However, in order to capture her heart, her boyfriend and entire family must vanish in order for him to accomplish his true endgame.

During the reign of the Shroud, internal treachery will become all-consuming as Malum, Dominic, and the first immortal attempt to grasp at the ultimate power to control the future of all humans and immortals alike. Rules are broken and lines crossed, while the secret to immortal abilities and eternal life will be exposed to a few unsuspecting human teens. Friendships will be severed for selfish gain, true loves will turn ill-fated, and those who would dare stand against the Shroud will be tempted with betrayal. The strong will become weak, and the weak will simply fade away. Yet, a few who are capable will decide to surrender everything and return to fight against the Shroud in the immortal war, knowing it is a battle that cannot possibly be won. The Shroud’s reign is in motion, but before it ends, many will question how such beauty and perfection could have corrupted the earth with its ugly influence since the beginning of time. And as the final days draw near, those who remain will discover what happens when all hope is detached from humanity.

New Book Coming Soon!

For the longest time, I couldn't figure out what was wrong with my Shrouded Secrets Chronicles book series. But now I discovered the missing ingredient, and I'm going to be delivering the cover, Title, and synopsis to a Goodreads near you any day now. I'm really excited about this one, I hope my audience is as well, because I think I've hit the coming book outta the park this time. This goes along with my aphorism that your best writing should always be your next writing, so I hope this is some of my best, and I hope you enjoy the unveil.

The world premiere trailer for The Shadow Harvest

Cookie: A Little Miss-Behaving

Weekly Communication, #2

Cookie was abandoned as a kitten along with her mom, two totally orange brothers and, like her, two calico sisters. Her mom and siblings were left without food or water during the middle of the summer in a hot apartment building.  However, mother cat and her five three-week-old kittens were saved by the apartment building's owner  when he came by to see if his former tenants had taken everything with them when they left. To his surprise, they had not!

Though this was a cruel thing that was done to the six cats, many kindhearted people helped Cookie's mom and all of her brothers and sisters get adopted to good homes with people who had plenty of love to spare.  Several weeks later, Cookie came to live with me, my wife, two gerbils named Dash and Flurry, and another cat named Mittens. My name is Joel T. McGrath, and I'm a sucker for a purr-fect face and a hard-luck story.

Dash, Flurry, and Uncle Scamper

From the moment I adopted her, I knew Cookie was different somehow. She always looked me straight in the eyes. It was almost as if she wanted to communi-cat with me on some higher level.

The first sign of trouble didn't come with an itch, like I would have thought, but with a burst of wild behavior instead. Cookie tore through the house with reckless abandon. She acted as if she were running away from something. Though she was a kitten, this it seemed was more than just kittenish quirks, this was fear!

Cookie has never been outside, and she has nothing to fear inside the house, as Mittens, pictured below, is ten-years-old and cares more about sleeping than anything Cookie ever does.

Mittens in His Natural Habitat

Most of Cookie's wild behavior was explained away by the articles on the internet. She is a tortoiseshell cat, which have been known to have "Tortitude," and therefore prone to mischief. But she really acted like a tortoise*hell cat through and through.

Still, there was more to her outlandish behavior than the internet could explain away. Whenever I worked on my manuscript, Cookie would, without warning, jump onto the keyboard, thus causing typos, misspellings, and even the dreaded page deletion. 

Then, one day she finally did it. Cookie completely erased my entire book in a single jump.

"Cookie! I can't believe you did that!" I said while frantically trying to retrieve my work.

I tried to grab her, but she casually walked behind the computer screen as if I were overreacting. That's when I noticed one word with a blinking cursor trailing its end. The word was "flee."

Was Cookie warning, worse yet, threatening me? When Cookie began scratching her neck, I parted her fur and found the real problem--fleas. After all that, it seemed she was just a bad speller. Cookie didn't mean flee, she meant "flea."

At first glance, they seemed like ordinary fleas. But upon a second look, these were not like any fleas that I'd ever seen before. These strange fleas were incredibly organized. Remarkably, there were tiny remnants of a flying machine on Cookie's back. I was unable to track the fleas because they all scuttled away from the light and into Cookie's lush dark fur. Like an army, they grouped together and took the broken pieces of their flying machine with them just as Cookie jumped away from my grasp and ran downstairs.

The Face of a Cat Who Knows She Has Intergalactic Fleas

Cookie and Her Cat-astrophic Case of Intergalactic Fleas

Communication of the Week, #1

I love my cat Cookie, but I think she's trying to kill me. It is my belief that intergalactic fleas have invaded both her and my other cat, Mittens. Stay tuned as I attempt to communicate with these intergalactic fleas in the days to come.

                                                     

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Joel T. McGrath

Publishing’s Dust Bowl

For those who need a history lesson, I’ll give you the condensed version along with its literary parallel. In the late nineteen twenties, America, along with the rest of the world, was thrust into a deep depression. Sound familiar? Shortly thereafter in the early nineteen thirties, the entire Midwestern part of the United States and its millions of acres of grasslands were over-farmed and parched by drought, causing the once lush prairies of buffalo grass to transform into a second version of the Sahara Desert. Enough with the history already, right? Not quite.

When the wheat farmers noticed how the price of their crops fell due to the plunging stock market, they did what most people would do to make up for their losses. They farmed even more land and produced as much wheat as they could. However, wheat continued to drop in value like never before. The U.S. government begged the farmers to stop because they had flooded an already weak market with their worthless crop, which now had much more supply than demand. Countless excess truckloads of grain were dumped by the roadside as the once fertile soil of the great prairie homesteads dried up. The green buffalo grass became millions of acres of brown dirt that later amassed into thirty-foot mounds of drifting sand.

Nature’s blustering rage swept across the Midwestern landscape in the form of dust storms that were hundreds of miles long and thousands of feet high. These monster storms choked out the midday sun and turned noon black as pitch. As each gigantic, menacing black cloud seemed worse than the last, people suffered severe respiratory distress and some even died as a result. Hope of what once was soon disappeared into the searing sixty mile per hour winds. “The Dust Bowl,” as one journalist coined the phrase, quickly turned from a small problem into a disaster of epic proportions. These apocalyptic dust storms sometimes swept over the entire country. The gritty dirt from the western frontier would blow thousands of miles in one storm, draping over New York City, Boston, Washington D.C., and even up to three hundred miles straight out into the Atlantic Ocean.

This is happening again to us now. The entire publishing world with its authors, agents, editors, and, yes, even the major publishing houses, are being engulfed by an evil black cloud. In the late nineteen twenties, the tractor was the major change in technology that became the key factor in the events that led to the Dust Bowl. Likewise today, increased technology allows everyone from everywhere to produce a sea of literature, which threatens to drown us all in its wake. There is simply too much literature in too many places for anyone to keep track of or distinguish themselves from.

Most Indie literary works are either ninety-nine cents or free at this point, which to me means that even the authors themselves believe that the creative bounty that sprouts from the lush soil of their mind, is, well, pretty much worthless. Just to clarify, I don’t believe that my hard work and limited time is worthless, and neither should you. It’s very hard coming up with an idea and then refining it until a reader can understand what you’re thinking. It takes a lot of thought to intimately converse with the masses, which are rarely likeminded and made up of every age, gender, and ethnic background. It’s hard to actually get people to read your book rather than put it on a TBR shelf for all of eternity in a sort of purgatory for the living dead of literature. Is all of this not worth more than a dollar?

People with e-readers have grown accustomed to free or near-free literature thrown at them by Indie authors from every direction. Even on my beloved Goodreads, there’s so much with the words ninety-nine cents or free that people have come to think if an e-book is priced any higher that it’s a personal insult to them. However, in reality, most people spend at least ten dollars a day on some type of junk food value meal that they’ll just inevitably expel in a few hours. Yet a book, now that used to be something of value. Books were always admired and once even sought after like fine treasure. So what happened? Well, mediocrity happened, and people have accepted subpar storylines with holes so big that you could drive a truck through them. Not every book is good, but my taste is different than your taste. And after all, taste is subjective. It’s not math. There’s no one right answer when it comes to literature. But it took time to write that novel—many hours. Nobody wants to show up for a job that pays ninety-nine cents, or, even worse, to break their back for no wage at all.

I believe that Indie, at its core, is a good thing. People deserve more. Give people what they want. Give people creative diversity. Give them some more choices in this life. But how does an author ever get noticed in a market that’s both flooded and closed at the same time? Actually, fixing this problem isn’t that difficult. In one swoop, you could repair the publishing model and remove the stigma from Indie and self-published authors, while detaching the aloof and elitist view that many have of the traditional publishing market as we know it.

It’s not a secret that traditional publishing hates Indie. There’s hurt feelings, jealousy, and spite on both sides. Sites like Smashwords and Amazon KDP, just to name a few, have taken many dollars out of the traditional publisher’s hands. Jobs have been lost, sales are down for everyone, and to complicate matters, when people buy an e-reader these days, more than a few act shocked that they still have to pay for a book after they just shelled out a lot of money for their e-reader. The e-book market is being flooded, driving down the value for everyone.

What’s needed is a talent scouting pool for authors. And despite the stories that you’ve heard from some authors stating that their first novel was written while still in their mother’s womb—obviously I’m kidding here—but nobody is born a writer, and all talent needs to be both refined and discovered. How else would we ever know if some obscure writer is any good at all? Maybe they could become a great novelist if they were only given a legitimate chance to compete. Traditional publishing houses seem complacent toward their audience these days. I see the same old books lazily occupying shelf space while hungry, talented writers with new ideas wait in the wings.

Now back to the talent scouting pool. The first thing you’d need would be a massive website for Indie authors to download their works. I know we have a ton of them out there, and that’s the major problem. The new site would eventually become the single umbrella for which all independent authors would sell under. Indie authors would want this, because like the innovative and unbridled farming techniques that destroyed the soil causing The Dust Bowl, the current publishing model is unsustainable for everyone involved. But if Mark Coker (founder of Smashwords), Indie authors, and the major six publishing houses worked together, everyone could win big here.

Each author would pay a small monthly fee to keep their literary works active on the website. The public could buy the e-books that the Indie authors released. There would be no free or ninety-nine cent books at all. Book pricing would start at $2.99 for forty thousand words and go up from there based on word count. To eliminate dishonest returns by speed readers, a sample of one third of every book would be displayed. So once the entire book is purchased, it’s purchased. All of the genres and subgenres would be present. Now here’s the part I call American Idol for authors. Literary agents and publishers would also pay a fee to have access to every book on the website. With anonymity, they could peruse for anything that resembles what’s on the season’s hot trendy lists. In return, every literary work posted would already have soft rights attached to them and the details could be worked out if and when a contract was offered in the future. Every Indie would still be Indie as order is restored to the publishing market. If you ever wanted to be traditionally published someday, you would have to commit to this new website, which I call UREZBOOK (pronounced “your easy book”) and you would only release your works through UREZBOOK alone.

To ensure quality control, a basic edit by a team of well-experienced editors would be required as an add-on fee. No other prepared packages would be extended to any author. If you can’t format and publish your own stuff for the website, then this site will be waiting when you either learn how to do it yourself or get a friend to donate their knowledge and time while helping you do it. Everyone would carry their own load. Indie authors would have the hope that someday an agent or publisher might just pick up their work for traditional publishing. That would motivate hopeful authors to always put their best work forward and slush piles could be eliminated by literary agencies forever.

These are just a few points that could usher in a real golden age for authors and publishers alike. Everyone would see increased profits, and Indie authors would feel validated. Many out-of-work agents and editors would have more work than they could have ever imagined. Once again, the lush buffalo grass would grow wildly as it cooled the parched literary desert plains in a new spirit of trust between agents, authors, and publishers like never before.

Joel T. McGrath

The Shadow Harvest Soundtrack

The Shadow Harvest is now available for purchase. Amazon's look inside feature grants you access to what the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award called:

"Shades of Highlander, the Immortals have returned! Throw in a little brother against brother feud...some hybrid offspring that may pose a threat to Immortals and you have the beginnings of an epic saga."-2012 ABNA Expert Reviewer

Prologue—Stranger Than Fiction

Viva La Vida http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X4AgYDUkGe8

Chapter One—Blood for Blood

Uprising http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w8KQmps-Sog

Chapter Two—Cast Aside Your Doubt

All the Right Moves http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UHHTnp4js9Y

Chapter Three—Shadow Warriors

Gravity http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A_U6iSAn_fY

Chapter Four—Castle in the Clouds

Somebody That I Used to Know http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8UVNT4wvIGY

Chapter Five—Tomorrow’s Knight

My Immortal http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5anLPw0Efmo

Chapter Six—Love and War

Fields of Gold http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RXMS3bX3-3U

Chapter Seven—Harvest Hour

Vincent http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oxHnRfhDmrk

Chapter Eight—Disenchantment

Creep http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XFkzRNyygfk

Chapter Nine—Dark Truths

My Hero http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rtbJwAVg3gM

In My Life http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MjVlMiz_Nfs

I've been busy editing lately, so I haven't had the time to blog. But if I had any time at all, I would hope that it would turn out interesting like this: http://www.brentweeks.com/extras/writing-advice/new-writing-advice/

The Shadow Harvest Is Coming!

Coming soon, five free copies of my second novel,  The Shadow Harvest, will be given away at Goodreads.com. http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13646359-the-shadow-harvest