I heard the beating of fingers on the tell tale keys, he's blogging again as easy as he pleases. I crept up close to have just a peek, when he turns to me and begins to speak.
"Watch where you're stepping the boards are quite loose and please tuck your head, so it does not accidentially slip into the noose. I tried to warn the last customer too. But he would listen or take any off my clues. So he crept up and looked over my shoulder. His move was quite rash and couldn't have been bolder. But I stood my ground, for these words I write in jest; for I am such private man I had cleaved open his chest. I buried him there, right under the floor and now I hear hearts beating and the damn bird keeps saying never more! Never more! Think it sounds like old Edgar?
Well it may not be as good as old Edgar wrote, but it's an example of the freedom you have as a writer. You can explore the depths of your soul or just play around the edges. Writing opens up the imagination to a whole host of possibilities and only you limit where it can take you! So I'll say it again, Go write something, it doesn't matter what, even if it's grocery list, but write it with passion and enthusiasm. Chris Keys- "Write what you know, write it with passion-set the world on fire with your dreams!ChrisKeys2010@
Friday, March 19, 2010
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Using your blog to market your book 101 by Chris Keys
USING YOUR BLOG TO MARKET YOUR BOOK 101 by Chris Keys
The author of “Reprisal! The Eagle Rises!” Due out summer of 2010
It’s been a reoccurring theme lately on several sites I belong to; ” Can I use blogging to advertise or market my book?” The answer is easy, it’s yes. In fact, if you don’t, you may as well not bother blogging unless you just want to blog. That’s ok! But if you’ve got a book coming out or already out, you had better be blogging.
The first step in blogging is setting up a blog site. This can be done quite easily. You can go and sign up with Google, Yahoo, Fan Box, Hub Pages and/or dozens of other blog sites. Most are free, some might pay you something, usually not enough to do anything for you except complicate your taxes, but only if you can generate paying fans and some even get you some exposure with the public.
I, myself, am on three blog sites and I have had a total of three visitors, one on each site. MMMM! I know there are things I can do to increase the number of hits I receive, like advertise, and many of the sites will help me, for a fee, but I haven’t the time or the money at this point to it. So, I have thirty two alternative blog sites I use, their called social networking sites.
Yep, almost every social network gives you an opportunity to post comments, stories, poems, or join discussions. Many even have separate blog sections. So I have thirty two of them. I can mention, “Reprisal! The Eagle Rises!” thirty two times. Now I know, you’re wondering how can I handle writing thirty two blogs? Well, the truth is, I don’t. I write one blog and then share it between the sites. Occasionally, I get industrious and I’ll write two but then I just share them on different days.
Either way you chose to go, you need to remember its all about exposure. You want as many people as possible, to have a chance to see your writing. After all, this is your showcase for your writing style and your chance to pitch your book(s) to your readers.
Listen to me, I’m writing like I’m such an old pro at this and I am. I’ve been a blogger for almost three whole months, but I’ve been sales for twenty some years and your blog is a short sales presentation. It used to be called social networking for business. Sales trainers made small fortunes teaching sales people and accounts, how to talk to people and make a positive impressions in short quick conversations. They were quick to point out that you needed to work your product into the conversation without making the other person feel, they’ve been trapped in an infomercial. There is a good chance that if you do it wrong, you’ll never get that person as your customer (book buyer). If you do it right, well the odds go up dramatically but you still have to overcome price in the end. I like to sell value and not price. It’s easier, as long as the product your selling has some value. But I digress. I’m here to help you promote your book. Like I promote my book, Reprisal! The Eagle Rises!
So you now know it’s a very good idea to use a blog to promote your book. Ok how? I’ve put together a few ideas I stole from other blogs, sales trainers, social climbers, politicians-only the good ones though-there’s an oxymoron for you. How about reformed politicians? Well maybe another day, we’re talking about blogging and selling your book.
You want to write your blogs as well as you can and you want the subject to be of interest to people. There are six quasi-official categories of blogging and I’ll throw in my own category at the end, just to mess with you.
These are in no particular order and they don’t get ranked one better than the other, except my choice is far superior to the others and you’ll see why in the end. So, ok you can blog about other authors and their books. This would be “The Review Category”. If you chose to use this category you review things. You could actually interview other authors for the blogs. It is certain to keep the blog fresh and interesting because every one wouldn’t be about your pet or your extended ear hair that needed electrolysis. Next, you have “The Commentary Category”, where you could blog about the latest happenings around the world or in your own back yard. Then there is “The How to Category”. This is where you tell everyone, what you know and how you do it and then how your way is the best way to do it. Then you have “The Guest Blogger Category”. You can invite other authors to post a blog so you can take the afternoon off. It’s a great way to keep your blog fresh and keep the public interested, while you get a break from having to figure what to write about next. I don’t recommend you do two much of the Guest Bloggers cause after a short period of time; your followers know the name of every other book, like “Reprisal! The Eagle Rise!” by Chris Keys, and not yours. Next, you can write “The Short Story Category” blog to fill blog space. Now be careful because you don’t want to give your best stuff away. So make sure it’s good but hold back a little for the paying customers. Be sure to ask your followers to respond to your stories. It creates an interaction that will make you memorable and thus giving you a better chance to sell your book to them. The last of the quasi-official blogs is “The Series Category”. I recommend that you keep the series to two or three Blogs. Too many and the followers may give up on ever getting to the point.
I also don’t recommend that you jump right in and declare to the world that you’ll be writing blogs daily and twice on Sundays. It can be difficult to find something to write about, so let yourself get used to writing blogs before committing to writing them on a deadline or a schedule. So there you have it, the six quasi-official, semi-definitive blog categories. Developed from minutes of painstaking attention to the broad generalizations and completely missing the details.
Oh yeah, I did threaten to share or rather I promised to share,(writing is all in the words people keep telling me), my sixth absolutely incredible blog category. It is “The Musings Category”. Musings are simple attention getting, short conversations, where you are free to range over several subjects or just one. Where you can interject your opinion or allow some other hack would be, authors, you so magnanimously agree to let hang on your coat tails, to promote his sad little book like, Reprisal! The Eagle Rises! Thus making the few followers aware of your book and your blog see how kind and generous you are, so they properly choose where their time and money should be spent. On your book! Musing incorporates all six of the quai’s and allows you leeway in the structure and content and context. So I like, Musing for my blog style.
Just remember don’t over due the plugging of your book. Some blogs you won’t mention it all and others, maybe once or twice, but it has to be context and not some random blurb about your book. Reprisal! The Eagle Rises! Debuting summer 2010! By Chris Keys! See how that sticks out like a sore thumb, and it so tacky, most readers wouldn’t give you as second chance, if you did that too much.
Well, I hope this was almost clear and sort of easy to understand, leaving you as confused as the writer is. I’ll try to help provide clarity on any subject I have to master, as I become a writer or rather an author. (Remember, it’s all in what words you say and how you say them)
Chris Keys-“Write what you know, write it with passion-set the world on fire with your dreams!”ChrisKeys2010@ Don’t forget Reprisal! The Eagle Rises! Debuts this summer!
Too much? You think?
The author of “Reprisal! The Eagle Rises!” Due out summer of 2010
It’s been a reoccurring theme lately on several sites I belong to; ” Can I use blogging to advertise or market my book?” The answer is easy, it’s yes. In fact, if you don’t, you may as well not bother blogging unless you just want to blog. That’s ok! But if you’ve got a book coming out or already out, you had better be blogging.
The first step in blogging is setting up a blog site. This can be done quite easily. You can go and sign up with Google, Yahoo, Fan Box, Hub Pages and/or dozens of other blog sites. Most are free, some might pay you something, usually not enough to do anything for you except complicate your taxes, but only if you can generate paying fans and some even get you some exposure with the public.
I, myself, am on three blog sites and I have had a total of three visitors, one on each site. MMMM! I know there are things I can do to increase the number of hits I receive, like advertise, and many of the sites will help me, for a fee, but I haven’t the time or the money at this point to it. So, I have thirty two alternative blog sites I use, their called social networking sites.
Yep, almost every social network gives you an opportunity to post comments, stories, poems, or join discussions. Many even have separate blog sections. So I have thirty two of them. I can mention, “Reprisal! The Eagle Rises!” thirty two times. Now I know, you’re wondering how can I handle writing thirty two blogs? Well, the truth is, I don’t. I write one blog and then share it between the sites. Occasionally, I get industrious and I’ll write two but then I just share them on different days.
Either way you chose to go, you need to remember its all about exposure. You want as many people as possible, to have a chance to see your writing. After all, this is your showcase for your writing style and your chance to pitch your book(s) to your readers.
Listen to me, I’m writing like I’m such an old pro at this and I am. I’ve been a blogger for almost three whole months, but I’ve been sales for twenty some years and your blog is a short sales presentation. It used to be called social networking for business. Sales trainers made small fortunes teaching sales people and accounts, how to talk to people and make a positive impressions in short quick conversations. They were quick to point out that you needed to work your product into the conversation without making the other person feel, they’ve been trapped in an infomercial. There is a good chance that if you do it wrong, you’ll never get that person as your customer (book buyer). If you do it right, well the odds go up dramatically but you still have to overcome price in the end. I like to sell value and not price. It’s easier, as long as the product your selling has some value. But I digress. I’m here to help you promote your book. Like I promote my book, Reprisal! The Eagle Rises!
So you now know it’s a very good idea to use a blog to promote your book. Ok how? I’ve put together a few ideas I stole from other blogs, sales trainers, social climbers, politicians-only the good ones though-there’s an oxymoron for you. How about reformed politicians? Well maybe another day, we’re talking about blogging and selling your book.
You want to write your blogs as well as you can and you want the subject to be of interest to people. There are six quasi-official categories of blogging and I’ll throw in my own category at the end, just to mess with you.
These are in no particular order and they don’t get ranked one better than the other, except my choice is far superior to the others and you’ll see why in the end. So, ok you can blog about other authors and their books. This would be “The Review Category”. If you chose to use this category you review things. You could actually interview other authors for the blogs. It is certain to keep the blog fresh and interesting because every one wouldn’t be about your pet or your extended ear hair that needed electrolysis. Next, you have “The Commentary Category”, where you could blog about the latest happenings around the world or in your own back yard. Then there is “The How to Category”. This is where you tell everyone, what you know and how you do it and then how your way is the best way to do it. Then you have “The Guest Blogger Category”. You can invite other authors to post a blog so you can take the afternoon off. It’s a great way to keep your blog fresh and keep the public interested, while you get a break from having to figure what to write about next. I don’t recommend you do two much of the Guest Bloggers cause after a short period of time; your followers know the name of every other book, like “Reprisal! The Eagle Rise!” by Chris Keys, and not yours. Next, you can write “The Short Story Category” blog to fill blog space. Now be careful because you don’t want to give your best stuff away. So make sure it’s good but hold back a little for the paying customers. Be sure to ask your followers to respond to your stories. It creates an interaction that will make you memorable and thus giving you a better chance to sell your book to them. The last of the quasi-official blogs is “The Series Category”. I recommend that you keep the series to two or three Blogs. Too many and the followers may give up on ever getting to the point.
I also don’t recommend that you jump right in and declare to the world that you’ll be writing blogs daily and twice on Sundays. It can be difficult to find something to write about, so let yourself get used to writing blogs before committing to writing them on a deadline or a schedule. So there you have it, the six quasi-official, semi-definitive blog categories. Developed from minutes of painstaking attention to the broad generalizations and completely missing the details.
Oh yeah, I did threaten to share or rather I promised to share,(writing is all in the words people keep telling me), my sixth absolutely incredible blog category. It is “The Musings Category”. Musings are simple attention getting, short conversations, where you are free to range over several subjects or just one. Where you can interject your opinion or allow some other hack would be, authors, you so magnanimously agree to let hang on your coat tails, to promote his sad little book like, Reprisal! The Eagle Rises! Thus making the few followers aware of your book and your blog see how kind and generous you are, so they properly choose where their time and money should be spent. On your book! Musing incorporates all six of the quai’s and allows you leeway in the structure and content and context. So I like, Musing for my blog style.
Just remember don’t over due the plugging of your book. Some blogs you won’t mention it all and others, maybe once or twice, but it has to be context and not some random blurb about your book. Reprisal! The Eagle Rises! Debuting summer 2010! By Chris Keys! See how that sticks out like a sore thumb, and it so tacky, most readers wouldn’t give you as second chance, if you did that too much.
Well, I hope this was almost clear and sort of easy to understand, leaving you as confused as the writer is. I’ll try to help provide clarity on any subject I have to master, as I become a writer or rather an author. (Remember, it’s all in what words you say and how you say them)
Chris Keys-“Write what you know, write it with passion-set the world on fire with your dreams!”ChrisKeys2010@ Don’t forget Reprisal! The Eagle Rises! Debuts this summer!
Too much? You think?
Edit Lament!
Edit Lament
I have no job
I have no life
I live for my book
I may lose my wife
I stay up all night thinking of words
I struggle all day
Sleeping with the crowing birds
I write and rewrite
Each time
I’m filled with delight
Each time
I’m filled with dread
I’m beginning to believe
I’ll finish a day after I’m dead.
Chris Keys2010
I have no job
I have no life
I live for my book
I may lose my wife
I stay up all night thinking of words
I struggle all day
Sleeping with the crowing birds
I write and rewrite
Each time
I’m filled with delight
Each time
I’m filled with dread
I’m beginning to believe
I’ll finish a day after I’m dead.
Chris Keys2010
The lawn mower story! by Chris Keys
THE LAWN MOWER! By Chris Keys-a true story
It was June 13th, 1973 at approximately 1:35 in the afternoon, when I became intimate with an industrial lawn mower. My life crashed to halt and my dreams were left smoldering in a burnt ash heap.
At the time of the accident, I was working for a city run country club in southeast Michigan, called Camp Dearborn, run by the City of Dearborn. It was a summer job between high school and college, the money from which I was going to save for college in the fall. It would have worked too, except for one minor mishap.
I was, a would be, college football player, with a very good chance of receiving a full ride scholarship, starting with the second semester of school. That is, if I could raise my grades to all B’s and I continued to perform on the field, at the level I had performed in spring camp. After having been told I could get a full ride scholarship, I was convinced I’d get to play on Sunday afternoons, setting my whole heart and mind on doing just that.
On that June day, shortly after my mowing partner and I had finished lunch, we began mowing the formal camping section of the country club, where there was a row of large boulders. These boulders were placed between the road and ball fields. They were set just far enough a part, so you couldn’t drive your car between them, which I guess had become a problem, judging by the tire ruts in the baseball diamond, just beyond the boulders.
Anyway, my partner and I had the job of cutting the grass around these boulders, which was no big deal. We had already done the job twice, since being hired on for the summer, two weeks before. We started out just fine. We each picked a side to walk down, just as we did before. After each boulder, we’d crisscross between them, repeating the process all the way down the line of fifteen boulders. It was the most efficient way to cut around the large boulders and it should have been easy. But neither of us had factored in an unforeseen distraction that we encountered, just as we reached the end of the boulder row.
As we started to mow around the last two boulders, the distraction occurred. Two young women in bikinis stepped over the crest of the hill straight in front of us, just thirty yards away. The hill was a landscape design feature that separated the camping area from the general recreation area and the beaches. They were obviously returning from the beach and they looked great!
The girls were wearing bikinis in the barest sense of the word. They were small, very small. Now of course, here we are, my partner and I, too healthy eighteen year old, young men, watching this spectacle of womanly flesh saunter over the crest of the hill. We both looked up to watch, our eyes never leaving them, even when they split up to walk around us and our noisy mowers.
I watched the one who went to right of us and my partner watched the one that went to the left. As they walked by, we continued to mow and to watch. My partner and I managed to do the crisscross between the last two boulders, without any difficulty but when we met on the far side of the last boulder, disaster struck.
As we rounded the last boulder, I either quickened my pace or he slowed his. Because when we came around the far side to the center point of the boulder, the point where we had to make the turn into the straight away, he was a step behind.
The step took less than a second to make and if I had been watching him, I could have avoided the accident, but I wasn’t watching him and he wasn’t watching me. We were stupidly watching the girls. They were quite lovely but in hind site not nearly lovely enough to justify the loss of my biggest dreams.
The mower ran over my left foot and nearly cut off the end it. It required a hundred and ten stitches inside and a hundred and ten stitches outside, to reconnect all my toes back together with my foot again. Unknown to me at the time, because it was never mentioned in an oversight by the hospital personnel, I had also broken bones in my foot and my ankle. I had, the doctor’s theorized, yanked my foot away so fast and violently from the whirling blade, that it had made just one pass through my foot, the wounds edges were so smooth. But the speed at which I had moved and the snapping of the leg and foot at the end of the violent yank, had caused bones to snap. They figured it was a small price to pay, for saving the foot from further trauma. Oh, lucky me!
Two weeks later, I was told, I would never walk again the damage had been so great. They simply explained the nerves, well they were severed. Limiting my ability to feel the ground while walking with the foot and the blood vessels, they were heavily damaged and limited in their capacity to carry blood, causing swelling and discomfort should I put weight on it. The after care physician never spoke about the broken bones, because the hospital had failed to include that information when they sent the records on to him.
My life was profoundly changed at that time. My dream of playing football in the pros was gone right along with my dreams of college too. I had no plans beyond making a pro football team. I had no plan B.
Then while camping in Northern Michigan a short time later. After having been on a week long drinking binge, I made a decision. I wasn’t going to let the doctors win. I wasn’t going to be disabled. I was going to win. I convinced myself, I’d play football again.
It took almost a year, but I walked again. Of course, I had a major limp and no one could touch my leg, but I was walking. It was then I learned, from a new doctor, who ordered the hospital the records once again, that I had done more damage to my foot and leg by walking on it before the broken bones had completely healed! What? The lawsuit I experienced is a tale for another time so it will have to suffice to say, there was one. Despite, the not so good news, I still tried out for the football team again, a few months later but since I couldn’t run very well and anytime someone banged my leg, I either howled in pain or started a fight, I didn’t make the team. I was despondent for months and had strong thoughts of suicide, but I never found the courage to see it through.
Once I accepted, that the dream of football was gone, I settled down, married. We had a daughter and I found work driving a truck for a small company after having worked for a bank and discovered they didn’t pay anything.
For years after the accident, I struggled with finding myself and with discovering something, anything that inspired as much passion within me as football once had done. What college I had attended, was the longest two hours of my life, as I just didn’t have a desire to be there. The only class, in which I excelled, was the creative writing class I took. The professor convinced me though, that the only way I’d be able to be a writer, was if I managed to get a four year degree with very high grades.
So when the rejection letters piled up, I took to heart what he had said and I gave up. I then just lived life like the rest of the people, I knew. They got up, went to work, came home, went to bed and did it all over again, tomorrow. Along the way, they had children and bought houses with mortgages to pay, so I did the same. Though, I had little in the way of hopes and dreams.
The accident with the mower almost destroyed my life and yet, it taught me an invaluable lesson in life as well. Nothing is impossible! If you have a will, you will find a way. No matter how long it takes! It took me almost forty years and another one of life’s turning points, before I found the passion to write!
Chris Keys-Spread the Word! Write what you know, write it with passion-set the world on fire with your dreams!ChrisKeys2010@
It was June 13th, 1973 at approximately 1:35 in the afternoon, when I became intimate with an industrial lawn mower. My life crashed to halt and my dreams were left smoldering in a burnt ash heap.
At the time of the accident, I was working for a city run country club in southeast Michigan, called Camp Dearborn, run by the City of Dearborn. It was a summer job between high school and college, the money from which I was going to save for college in the fall. It would have worked too, except for one minor mishap.
I was, a would be, college football player, with a very good chance of receiving a full ride scholarship, starting with the second semester of school. That is, if I could raise my grades to all B’s and I continued to perform on the field, at the level I had performed in spring camp. After having been told I could get a full ride scholarship, I was convinced I’d get to play on Sunday afternoons, setting my whole heart and mind on doing just that.
On that June day, shortly after my mowing partner and I had finished lunch, we began mowing the formal camping section of the country club, where there was a row of large boulders. These boulders were placed between the road and ball fields. They were set just far enough a part, so you couldn’t drive your car between them, which I guess had become a problem, judging by the tire ruts in the baseball diamond, just beyond the boulders.
Anyway, my partner and I had the job of cutting the grass around these boulders, which was no big deal. We had already done the job twice, since being hired on for the summer, two weeks before. We started out just fine. We each picked a side to walk down, just as we did before. After each boulder, we’d crisscross between them, repeating the process all the way down the line of fifteen boulders. It was the most efficient way to cut around the large boulders and it should have been easy. But neither of us had factored in an unforeseen distraction that we encountered, just as we reached the end of the boulder row.
As we started to mow around the last two boulders, the distraction occurred. Two young women in bikinis stepped over the crest of the hill straight in front of us, just thirty yards away. The hill was a landscape design feature that separated the camping area from the general recreation area and the beaches. They were obviously returning from the beach and they looked great!
The girls were wearing bikinis in the barest sense of the word. They were small, very small. Now of course, here we are, my partner and I, too healthy eighteen year old, young men, watching this spectacle of womanly flesh saunter over the crest of the hill. We both looked up to watch, our eyes never leaving them, even when they split up to walk around us and our noisy mowers.
I watched the one who went to right of us and my partner watched the one that went to the left. As they walked by, we continued to mow and to watch. My partner and I managed to do the crisscross between the last two boulders, without any difficulty but when we met on the far side of the last boulder, disaster struck.
As we rounded the last boulder, I either quickened my pace or he slowed his. Because when we came around the far side to the center point of the boulder, the point where we had to make the turn into the straight away, he was a step behind.
The step took less than a second to make and if I had been watching him, I could have avoided the accident, but I wasn’t watching him and he wasn’t watching me. We were stupidly watching the girls. They were quite lovely but in hind site not nearly lovely enough to justify the loss of my biggest dreams.
The mower ran over my left foot and nearly cut off the end it. It required a hundred and ten stitches inside and a hundred and ten stitches outside, to reconnect all my toes back together with my foot again. Unknown to me at the time, because it was never mentioned in an oversight by the hospital personnel, I had also broken bones in my foot and my ankle. I had, the doctor’s theorized, yanked my foot away so fast and violently from the whirling blade, that it had made just one pass through my foot, the wounds edges were so smooth. But the speed at which I had moved and the snapping of the leg and foot at the end of the violent yank, had caused bones to snap. They figured it was a small price to pay, for saving the foot from further trauma. Oh, lucky me!
Two weeks later, I was told, I would never walk again the damage had been so great. They simply explained the nerves, well they were severed. Limiting my ability to feel the ground while walking with the foot and the blood vessels, they were heavily damaged and limited in their capacity to carry blood, causing swelling and discomfort should I put weight on it. The after care physician never spoke about the broken bones, because the hospital had failed to include that information when they sent the records on to him.
My life was profoundly changed at that time. My dream of playing football in the pros was gone right along with my dreams of college too. I had no plans beyond making a pro football team. I had no plan B.
Then while camping in Northern Michigan a short time later. After having been on a week long drinking binge, I made a decision. I wasn’t going to let the doctors win. I wasn’t going to be disabled. I was going to win. I convinced myself, I’d play football again.
It took almost a year, but I walked again. Of course, I had a major limp and no one could touch my leg, but I was walking. It was then I learned, from a new doctor, who ordered the hospital the records once again, that I had done more damage to my foot and leg by walking on it before the broken bones had completely healed! What? The lawsuit I experienced is a tale for another time so it will have to suffice to say, there was one. Despite, the not so good news, I still tried out for the football team again, a few months later but since I couldn’t run very well and anytime someone banged my leg, I either howled in pain or started a fight, I didn’t make the team. I was despondent for months and had strong thoughts of suicide, but I never found the courage to see it through.
Once I accepted, that the dream of football was gone, I settled down, married. We had a daughter and I found work driving a truck for a small company after having worked for a bank and discovered they didn’t pay anything.
For years after the accident, I struggled with finding myself and with discovering something, anything that inspired as much passion within me as football once had done. What college I had attended, was the longest two hours of my life, as I just didn’t have a desire to be there. The only class, in which I excelled, was the creative writing class I took. The professor convinced me though, that the only way I’d be able to be a writer, was if I managed to get a four year degree with very high grades.
So when the rejection letters piled up, I took to heart what he had said and I gave up. I then just lived life like the rest of the people, I knew. They got up, went to work, came home, went to bed and did it all over again, tomorrow. Along the way, they had children and bought houses with mortgages to pay, so I did the same. Though, I had little in the way of hopes and dreams.
The accident with the mower almost destroyed my life and yet, it taught me an invaluable lesson in life as well. Nothing is impossible! If you have a will, you will find a way. No matter how long it takes! It took me almost forty years and another one of life’s turning points, before I found the passion to write!
Chris Keys-Spread the Word! Write what you know, write it with passion-set the world on fire with your dreams!ChrisKeys2010@
Internet confusion
Oh boy! I was on another site just now and the people I was writing with were discussing using their blogs to market their books. Books like mine, Reprisal! The Eagle Rises! due out this summer. Well, someone asked if I blogged and I said oh yeah, I'm on Fan Box and I blog on all thirty two sites social networking sites I'm on as well. Then someone asked are you on Bloggspot and I said I didn't know, I checked my site list, gave it some thought, and then I assured them and me, that I wasn't here. So they convinced me I should join the site and They'd follow me if I followed them. I said sure no problem. Boy, was I surprised, when I discovered I already had a site set up. I'd already posted a blog or five. I don't remember ever having been here, though I posted last, just few days ago. Now tomorrow is my birthday, the big double nickle, I'll be offically a senior as far discounts and travel go, and I'm guessing it not a minute to soon. I've already lost my mind and I'll have to admit to the wife that I can't remember @#$%$, just as she's asserted for the last three years. Any one got the number to senior care,next thing you know,I'll need watching! Chris Keys- Who'd of thought I'd ever come to this!
Monday, January 18, 2010
My first review
Wow! I just read the new book by Chris keys, Reprisal! The Eagle Rises! He’s Tom Clancy all over again. I was treated to thrills and chills, smacked in the face and brought to tears. I just couldn’t put it down. It’s fast paced and a solid story. You need this book on your summer reading list! I can not wait for the second book! ---Doug Bondie
Friday, January 8, 2010
Featured author
Hi there! I'm excited! I am featured Author on Writersface.com I was chosen after they read my profile and synopsis of "Reprisal! The Eagle Rises!" Why not take a minute and go check it out. I hope to be able to share alot more in the near future with you. Things like an excerpt from my up and coming ebook, "The Motor Home" its a true story that happened to me. It about an old motor home and a deal I made with God! I advise you not to make deals with God because he'll hold you to the terms of the deal no matter what!
Thanks for reading Chris Keys
Thanks for reading Chris Keys
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
You want to read this
Hey look at that I figured it out! Now if someone just figure sout i'm out here post this stuff. I have to say I've good success with my sites at Homestead, Flordia Writers Assoc. and AuthorNation as far as people reading the excerpts. Good reviews so far. Submitted my second book today under my really name. Its a short story about a motor home, and lots of challenges and then lots of God and how it all brought closer to God. It a true story, but it reads alittle like scifi. The excerpt below from Reprisal! The Eagle Rises! and look another excerpt next week. Please leave comments!
Moving with deliberate slowness, a dark blue, three year old, Toyota Camry, crept down the alleyway of the industrial park that bordered the refinery on the western edge. The car had four men crammed inside, each one dressed in a black combat jumpsuit, a black ski mask and dark gray latex gloves.
The car stopped about a hundred feet from the spot they had chosen to enter the refinery and the man seated behind the driver climbed out and moved quickly to the back corner of the car as the driver popped the trunk. No light shown as the lid opened, since the man had broken it earlier while preparing for this moment.
Pulling a glow stick from his pocket, he cracked it, shook it and then dropped it in the trunk illuminating it with a dull green glow. He drew a .22 caliber-target rifle from the trunk that had a sound suppressor attached to it and a 20x night scope with tinted lens to allow him to look right at light sources without hurting his eyes. It only took a moment to close the trunk lid, brace himself on it so that he was able to aim and fire, which he did, five times. His aim was true, taking out the three halogen security lights spaced forty yards apart, thirty feet in the air along the fence line and the two security cameras mounted on poles some twenty yards behind the fence and forty feet in the air.
As soon as the last light winked out the other three men exited the car and retrieved their weapons along with a large duffle bag from the car’s trunk. They left the car running just in case they needed a quick escape as they walked along the building towards the spot in the fence line where they had chosen to cut thru. Under a waning quarter moon and dressed in their black combat jump suits the men were almost invisible in the now unlit alleyway.
Each man carried a nine millimeter Uzi machine pistol and a small mag-lite flashlight with a hood that forced the beam to point downward protecting against stray beams drawing attention as they walked down the alley. As they crossed the open space between the buildings of the industrial complex and the refinery fence, each man sweeping his field of vision as they moved, all was clear.
The first man out of the car had already knelt down by the fence and was making a visual sweep of the area inside the fence when another man knelt next to him and began cutting the fence wires with bolt cutters he had pulled from the duffle bag. They had chosen this spot because it was the same spot that they had paid a local gang to cut thru several times in the last three months. Once the hole was large enough, they pulled it open further, spreading the opening in the fence until it was big enough to allow them to step thru easily.
They moved quickly to the large gasoline storage tank closest to them, it held over twenty thousand gallon of gasoline and began searching for the small relief valve, which was similar to a hose bib on a residential house. The bib allowed the refinery workers to access the tank for test samples from the bottom of the tank without starting the large pumps required to stir the tank and pump the gasoline out of the top of it.
It took only a few seconds to find it and almost as quickly, they filled eight collapsible five-gallon plastic containers which they had pulled from the duffle bag. Then each man reached into the bag after filling his containers and pulled two small packages from the duffle bag which they slipped into their pockets. They then walked off in different directions into the refinery, leaving the duffle bag by the test valve, which they had purposely left open flooding the nearby area with gasoline.
In the security office, John was leaning back in his office recliner with his feet propped up on the console in front of him trying to sleep. He didn’t see the little red flashing lights blinking in front of him. If he had, he would have been alerted to the break in that had just happened. If he had, he might have saved his own life. If only he hadn’t been so intent on saving his energy for game time.
*****
“Yousef, have you finished the calculations for the formula?” Grant Ortiz, the night supervisor with a PHD in chemical engineering and twenty years experience under his belt, asked the kid as he walked up to Yousef’s work station.
Yousef, a late twenties something student from Qatar was a stereotypical Muslim male with his brown complexion, a full black beard, black moustache, bushy black eye brows and thick black hair. The fact that he carried a few extra pounds clarified for Ortiz, he had never really had to work for a living or worry about where his next meal was coming from. Ortiz who stood six foot six and weighed over three hundred pounds clearly intimidated five foot eight inch bespectacled Yousef, as evidenced by the nervous shifting he did as he approached.
Ortiz had been an oil field worker for fifteen years before he became a chemical engineer. At thirty-five he could see the future wasn’t working on the rigs but at the refinery. The refinery had better hours, a lot less stress, less heavy labor and a far better paycheck and pension. So he went back to school and got the degree he needed to make the switch.
The story about Yousef was his father was a close relative of some Sheik or something in Qatar who was somehow connected to the rumored merger and that he was to be a manager once it went through. Ortiz did his best to hide his contempt for the rich young Arab but at times his patience just plain ran out.
“I do not think I fully understand the process. I cannot seem to get the formula to work.” Yousef replied in Arabic accented English, as he glanced over his shoulder towards Ortiz but was really looking past him to the clock on the wall behind him. He needed to stall a few more minutes.
“Don’t understand?” Ortiz’s anger flashed and his voice volume rose. “Didn’t that fancy English school, teach you anything about formulas? Aren’t you supposed to be a chemical engineer? Shit boy, my ten year old son can write that formula, test it and add octane in his sleep!” Ortiz shouted before he got control of himself and offered to help Yousef yet again. “I’m going to show it to you one more time. Shit at this rate, you’ll be qualified at the end of your tour here to clean toilets and that’s about it. Now pay attention, damn it!” Ortiz roared, his frustration getting the better of him again.
Yousef did his best impression of someone who was interested, but his mind was racing, counting down to the time to when he was to act. He wondered if the others had been able to accomplish their tasks or if he was going to have to perform the secondary plan on his own.
Yousef’s two lab coworkers, who were grad students from Pakistan, entered the room and began snickering at seeing Ortiz hunched over Yousef’s work station yet again and Yousef clearly acting as if he had made yet another mistake.
“What the hell are you A-holes looking at?” Ortiz roared as he noticed the other two young men.
“Oh nothing, we just can’t help but wonder how a Cambridge education can leave a person so lacking in skills. Perhaps it is because one must attend classes, not merely have a parent pay for them.” The taller of the two snickered as they stepped back out the door, leaving the lab. Ortiz glanced at Yousef, who was looking down apparently avoiding the confrontation.
“Boy, don’t you have anything to say to that?” Ortiz asked as he looked at Yousef, who was looking down and mumbling something to himself. “Yousef!” Ortiz raised his voice several octaves to get his attention.
“Well, I…” Yousef stammered as he looked up and then quickly away.
“They are eating your lunch, buddy. You’ve got to stand up for yourself in this life! Now pay attention! Look here, now you add…..” Ortiz continued speaking but Yousef didn’t hear a word. He glanced at the clock again and saw it was finally time to act. Quickly he reached around to his lower back with his right hand, which was away from Ortiz, and retrieved a small semi-auto 9 mil hand gun which he had tucked in his belt, hidden under his lab coat. He brought it up quickly and pressed the small barrel against Ortiz’s temple and fired. The big man never even realized what was happening.
“I think I will stand up for myself now!” Stated Yousef, completely dropping his mild mannered facade, as he pushed his chair back from the slumped over body of Ortiz, letting it lay where it fell across his desk top.
The small report from the gun caught the two grad students off guard as they walked down the hall. Neither had recognized the muffled sound as that of a gun shot, but it they had stopped and tried to hear if there were more sounds. They were only a few dozen steps down the hall when
Yousef exited the lab and turned towards them. Yousef started quickly walking forward, his eyes never leaving his targets.
“Did you hear something?” The taller of the two grad students asked as they started to step towards Yousef.
“Hey, what’s that on your lab coat?” The shorter grad student asked out of curiosity.
Yousef didn’t answer, not having comprehended the question, as he continued to move quickly forward towards the two young men his focus was so intense. The two men stopped and stood rooted in place, clearly perplexed by Yousef’s lack of response and his hurried approach.
When Yousef had closed to within ten feet he raised the gun and fired twice rapidly. He hit both men in the chest and they collapsed to the floor with large red spots growing on the chest of their lab coats as he stepped past them. Yousef didn’t bother to look down at the two men he knew they were dead or soon would be, so he continued down the hall to the elevator. It was then, standing in front of the silver mirrored finished doors of the elevator that he noticed the blood spattered on the left shoulder of his lab coat and he finally comprehended the last question the small Pakistani had asked.
He rode the elevator to the ground floor then walked briskly towards the main entrance and the security room. As he reached the edge of the door he stopped, slipped the gun into the pocket of his lab coat and gathered his composure. He took a moment to think about what he needed to say and what he was about to. Then he stepped forward to the doorway and banged solidly on the door.
“Help me!” He yelled as he slammed his hand on the door again and again.
“What the hell!” John scowled as he was startled from his sleep and bounced out of his chair trying to get his bearings. He first looked at the monitors and saw that two of them were black. “Shit!” He exclaimed. Then he noticed the flashing lights. “Shit!” he exclaimed again.
Yousef continued to bang on the door. “Help! We need help!” Not giving John time to think.
John lurched as quickly as he could around the desk towards the door on his still stiff legs, catching his foot in some wires under the edge of the desk and nearly tripping. He gave his foot a strong yank at the last moment and the wires gave way allowing him to stumble forward. He then pulled the door open and practically screamed at Yousef. “What? What’s wrong?”
“I was getting a sample for Dr. Ortiz, when these guys jumped me and started hitting me!” Exclaimed Yousef, as he pointed towards the blood on his lab coat. “Come on, I think we will catch them if we hurry, they are stealing gasoline!” Yousef then turned and headed off down the hall not giving John a chance to say no.
John strode into the hallway after Yousef, failing to push the panic button, which set off the alarm at the local police substation. “Where were you when they jumped you?” he asked as they started running down the hallway towards the refinery access door with Yousef leading the way.
“I was over by tank number twelve. There were probably three or four of them.” Yousef added.
“I’d better call for backup” John stated as he clicked his radio buttoned on his shirt pocket. “Shit it doesn’t seem to be working.’ John then realized that the cord he had tripped on was the connection for the radio which dangled loosely under the console. He slowed down and came to a stop as they exited the building and stepped into the refinery yard. “Hey, where are you hurt?” John asked as it registered in his sleepy brain that he hadn’t noticed if Yousef actually had any facial injuries.
“Oh, it was over there.” Yousef started to move towards the maze of piping running off towards the tanks.
John took a few more halting steps as the door closed behind him and then stopped again. “No, I mean where are you bleeding from?” John asked as he reached half heartedly for his side arm.
Yousef stopped and quickly whirled around, pointing his gun right at John’s forehead.
“What the….” John’s voice trailed off as he froze unsure what to do.
“Move, towards tank twelve,” Yousef commanded.
“I don’t under….” John’s voice stuck in his throat.
“Shut up or I’ll kill you right here!” Yousef growled viciously as he prodded him forward by wiggling the gun the direction he wanted John to go.
From the shadows emerged the four men dressed in dark clothing and ski masks. Each carrying an Uzi machine pistol and they formed a semi-circle around John with Yousef falling in behind him, prodding him forward with the barrel of his gun towards tank number twelve.
“Who are you guys?” John asked sheepishly.
“Shut up, move!” Yousef prodded him with the barrel of the gun in his ribs.
“Hey, I didn’t see anything! Take all the gas you want. I won’t tell anyone anything! Just don’t kill me!” John begged as he was shoved forward roughly again. “Look, I’ve got a family. They really need me. I’m the only one that works! Come on, talk to me! Don’t kill me!” John continued to beg as he stumbled over the graveled walkway in the dark.
“Stop!” Yousef commanded and John stopped. He quickly looked around and saw that he was standing in a shallow pool of gasoline, a couple inches deep, that was pooling from under the test valve on tank twelve, several yards away. A large black duffle bag was lying next to the valve.
“Take out your service revolver!” Yousef commanded as the other four men stepped back towards the pathway to the truck staging area and loading platform, where they hesitated for only a moment to watch the drama unfolding before them.
“Guys, this is real dangerous! This stuff could blow up half of Houston! Here, take my gun.” John stated as he began pulling the gun from his holster. “I don’t care, but I gotta let someone know so that the gas can be cleaned up before there’s a problem.” John rattled on as he held out his hand holding the gun out by the trigger guard. “Hey, you know, I’ve never even fired this thing, not even at a range.”
“That’s too bad. You might have been a hero if you had. And by the way, there already is a problem.” Yousef said as he fired twice. Both bullets struck John in the stomach dropping him to the ground. As he fell he let go of his gun and clutched his stomach where blood seeped through his fingers. Upon hitting the ground, gasoline splashed in all directions, his nose filled with the stench of gasoline, and he wondered who these guys were and why had they shot him. The last thought that crossed his mind was he hoped Dallas won the game.
Yousef tossed his empty gun into the pool of spreading gasoline knowing it would be tied to the young Hispanic gang members, then he striped off the lab coat and an air bladder from around his waist tossing both to the ground. Then he quickly peeled off the fake beard, moustache and eye brows and tossed them to the ground as well He quickly turned and walked back to the main building and security office.
Once in the Security Office he found the release for the electronic gate locks and released the one nearest the loading platform. He then turned off the automated fire alarm and quickly made his way to the loading platform where he climbed into the cab of the last of four gasoline tanker trucks leaving the plant. As he climbed on board he asked the driver, “Are all the timers set?”
“Yes.” Was the one word reply, from the driver.
“Then Allah is with us so far and our names are halfway written in heaven.”
“Praise be to Allah!” The driver exclaimed with a smile beaming across his face.
The truck exited on to the deserted street and picked up speed quickly. They didn’t bother to stop for any of the traffic lights or stop signs, as the streets were completely deserted, just as the months of recon had told them they would be.
Ten minutes later the tanker truck entered the I-10 freeway heading west towards Austin, just as the sun was rising in the east. Yousef checked the dashboard clock and stated out loud, “Any moment now!”
Suddenly a blinding flash reflected off the mirrors as one of the huge tanks exploded throwing burning debris and monstrous chunks of metal for over a mile in all directions. A moment later a large dark cloud of smoke began filling the eastern sky, as a second blinding flash erupted, just to the right of the first explosion and then another and another and another. The whole refinery was quickly involved and the fire began spreading to the industrial park next to it.
*******
Moving with deliberate slowness, a dark blue, three year old, Toyota Camry, crept down the alleyway of the industrial park that bordered the refinery on the western edge. The car had four men crammed inside, each one dressed in a black combat jumpsuit, a black ski mask and dark gray latex gloves.
The car stopped about a hundred feet from the spot they had chosen to enter the refinery and the man seated behind the driver climbed out and moved quickly to the back corner of the car as the driver popped the trunk. No light shown as the lid opened, since the man had broken it earlier while preparing for this moment.
Pulling a glow stick from his pocket, he cracked it, shook it and then dropped it in the trunk illuminating it with a dull green glow. He drew a .22 caliber-target rifle from the trunk that had a sound suppressor attached to it and a 20x night scope with tinted lens to allow him to look right at light sources without hurting his eyes. It only took a moment to close the trunk lid, brace himself on it so that he was able to aim and fire, which he did, five times. His aim was true, taking out the three halogen security lights spaced forty yards apart, thirty feet in the air along the fence line and the two security cameras mounted on poles some twenty yards behind the fence and forty feet in the air.
As soon as the last light winked out the other three men exited the car and retrieved their weapons along with a large duffle bag from the car’s trunk. They left the car running just in case they needed a quick escape as they walked along the building towards the spot in the fence line where they had chosen to cut thru. Under a waning quarter moon and dressed in their black combat jump suits the men were almost invisible in the now unlit alleyway.
Each man carried a nine millimeter Uzi machine pistol and a small mag-lite flashlight with a hood that forced the beam to point downward protecting against stray beams drawing attention as they walked down the alley. As they crossed the open space between the buildings of the industrial complex and the refinery fence, each man sweeping his field of vision as they moved, all was clear.
The first man out of the car had already knelt down by the fence and was making a visual sweep of the area inside the fence when another man knelt next to him and began cutting the fence wires with bolt cutters he had pulled from the duffle bag. They had chosen this spot because it was the same spot that they had paid a local gang to cut thru several times in the last three months. Once the hole was large enough, they pulled it open further, spreading the opening in the fence until it was big enough to allow them to step thru easily.
They moved quickly to the large gasoline storage tank closest to them, it held over twenty thousand gallon of gasoline and began searching for the small relief valve, which was similar to a hose bib on a residential house. The bib allowed the refinery workers to access the tank for test samples from the bottom of the tank without starting the large pumps required to stir the tank and pump the gasoline out of the top of it.
It took only a few seconds to find it and almost as quickly, they filled eight collapsible five-gallon plastic containers which they had pulled from the duffle bag. Then each man reached into the bag after filling his containers and pulled two small packages from the duffle bag which they slipped into their pockets. They then walked off in different directions into the refinery, leaving the duffle bag by the test valve, which they had purposely left open flooding the nearby area with gasoline.
In the security office, John was leaning back in his office recliner with his feet propped up on the console in front of him trying to sleep. He didn’t see the little red flashing lights blinking in front of him. If he had, he would have been alerted to the break in that had just happened. If he had, he might have saved his own life. If only he hadn’t been so intent on saving his energy for game time.
*****
“Yousef, have you finished the calculations for the formula?” Grant Ortiz, the night supervisor with a PHD in chemical engineering and twenty years experience under his belt, asked the kid as he walked up to Yousef’s work station.
Yousef, a late twenties something student from Qatar was a stereotypical Muslim male with his brown complexion, a full black beard, black moustache, bushy black eye brows and thick black hair. The fact that he carried a few extra pounds clarified for Ortiz, he had never really had to work for a living or worry about where his next meal was coming from. Ortiz who stood six foot six and weighed over three hundred pounds clearly intimidated five foot eight inch bespectacled Yousef, as evidenced by the nervous shifting he did as he approached.
Ortiz had been an oil field worker for fifteen years before he became a chemical engineer. At thirty-five he could see the future wasn’t working on the rigs but at the refinery. The refinery had better hours, a lot less stress, less heavy labor and a far better paycheck and pension. So he went back to school and got the degree he needed to make the switch.
The story about Yousef was his father was a close relative of some Sheik or something in Qatar who was somehow connected to the rumored merger and that he was to be a manager once it went through. Ortiz did his best to hide his contempt for the rich young Arab but at times his patience just plain ran out.
“I do not think I fully understand the process. I cannot seem to get the formula to work.” Yousef replied in Arabic accented English, as he glanced over his shoulder towards Ortiz but was really looking past him to the clock on the wall behind him. He needed to stall a few more minutes.
“Don’t understand?” Ortiz’s anger flashed and his voice volume rose. “Didn’t that fancy English school, teach you anything about formulas? Aren’t you supposed to be a chemical engineer? Shit boy, my ten year old son can write that formula, test it and add octane in his sleep!” Ortiz shouted before he got control of himself and offered to help Yousef yet again. “I’m going to show it to you one more time. Shit at this rate, you’ll be qualified at the end of your tour here to clean toilets and that’s about it. Now pay attention, damn it!” Ortiz roared, his frustration getting the better of him again.
Yousef did his best impression of someone who was interested, but his mind was racing, counting down to the time to when he was to act. He wondered if the others had been able to accomplish their tasks or if he was going to have to perform the secondary plan on his own.
Yousef’s two lab coworkers, who were grad students from Pakistan, entered the room and began snickering at seeing Ortiz hunched over Yousef’s work station yet again and Yousef clearly acting as if he had made yet another mistake.
“What the hell are you A-holes looking at?” Ortiz roared as he noticed the other two young men.
“Oh nothing, we just can’t help but wonder how a Cambridge education can leave a person so lacking in skills. Perhaps it is because one must attend classes, not merely have a parent pay for them.” The taller of the two snickered as they stepped back out the door, leaving the lab. Ortiz glanced at Yousef, who was looking down apparently avoiding the confrontation.
“Boy, don’t you have anything to say to that?” Ortiz asked as he looked at Yousef, who was looking down and mumbling something to himself. “Yousef!” Ortiz raised his voice several octaves to get his attention.
“Well, I…” Yousef stammered as he looked up and then quickly away.
“They are eating your lunch, buddy. You’ve got to stand up for yourself in this life! Now pay attention! Look here, now you add…..” Ortiz continued speaking but Yousef didn’t hear a word. He glanced at the clock again and saw it was finally time to act. Quickly he reached around to his lower back with his right hand, which was away from Ortiz, and retrieved a small semi-auto 9 mil hand gun which he had tucked in his belt, hidden under his lab coat. He brought it up quickly and pressed the small barrel against Ortiz’s temple and fired. The big man never even realized what was happening.
“I think I will stand up for myself now!” Stated Yousef, completely dropping his mild mannered facade, as he pushed his chair back from the slumped over body of Ortiz, letting it lay where it fell across his desk top.
The small report from the gun caught the two grad students off guard as they walked down the hall. Neither had recognized the muffled sound as that of a gun shot, but it they had stopped and tried to hear if there were more sounds. They were only a few dozen steps down the hall when
Yousef exited the lab and turned towards them. Yousef started quickly walking forward, his eyes never leaving his targets.
“Did you hear something?” The taller of the two grad students asked as they started to step towards Yousef.
“Hey, what’s that on your lab coat?” The shorter grad student asked out of curiosity.
Yousef didn’t answer, not having comprehended the question, as he continued to move quickly forward towards the two young men his focus was so intense. The two men stopped and stood rooted in place, clearly perplexed by Yousef’s lack of response and his hurried approach.
When Yousef had closed to within ten feet he raised the gun and fired twice rapidly. He hit both men in the chest and they collapsed to the floor with large red spots growing on the chest of their lab coats as he stepped past them. Yousef didn’t bother to look down at the two men he knew they were dead or soon would be, so he continued down the hall to the elevator. It was then, standing in front of the silver mirrored finished doors of the elevator that he noticed the blood spattered on the left shoulder of his lab coat and he finally comprehended the last question the small Pakistani had asked.
He rode the elevator to the ground floor then walked briskly towards the main entrance and the security room. As he reached the edge of the door he stopped, slipped the gun into the pocket of his lab coat and gathered his composure. He took a moment to think about what he needed to say and what he was about to. Then he stepped forward to the doorway and banged solidly on the door.
“Help me!” He yelled as he slammed his hand on the door again and again.
“What the hell!” John scowled as he was startled from his sleep and bounced out of his chair trying to get his bearings. He first looked at the monitors and saw that two of them were black. “Shit!” He exclaimed. Then he noticed the flashing lights. “Shit!” he exclaimed again.
Yousef continued to bang on the door. “Help! We need help!” Not giving John time to think.
John lurched as quickly as he could around the desk towards the door on his still stiff legs, catching his foot in some wires under the edge of the desk and nearly tripping. He gave his foot a strong yank at the last moment and the wires gave way allowing him to stumble forward. He then pulled the door open and practically screamed at Yousef. “What? What’s wrong?”
“I was getting a sample for Dr. Ortiz, when these guys jumped me and started hitting me!” Exclaimed Yousef, as he pointed towards the blood on his lab coat. “Come on, I think we will catch them if we hurry, they are stealing gasoline!” Yousef then turned and headed off down the hall not giving John a chance to say no.
John strode into the hallway after Yousef, failing to push the panic button, which set off the alarm at the local police substation. “Where were you when they jumped you?” he asked as they started running down the hallway towards the refinery access door with Yousef leading the way.
“I was over by tank number twelve. There were probably three or four of them.” Yousef added.
“I’d better call for backup” John stated as he clicked his radio buttoned on his shirt pocket. “Shit it doesn’t seem to be working.’ John then realized that the cord he had tripped on was the connection for the radio which dangled loosely under the console. He slowed down and came to a stop as they exited the building and stepped into the refinery yard. “Hey, where are you hurt?” John asked as it registered in his sleepy brain that he hadn’t noticed if Yousef actually had any facial injuries.
“Oh, it was over there.” Yousef started to move towards the maze of piping running off towards the tanks.
John took a few more halting steps as the door closed behind him and then stopped again. “No, I mean where are you bleeding from?” John asked as he reached half heartedly for his side arm.
Yousef stopped and quickly whirled around, pointing his gun right at John’s forehead.
“What the….” John’s voice trailed off as he froze unsure what to do.
“Move, towards tank twelve,” Yousef commanded.
“I don’t under….” John’s voice stuck in his throat.
“Shut up or I’ll kill you right here!” Yousef growled viciously as he prodded him forward by wiggling the gun the direction he wanted John to go.
From the shadows emerged the four men dressed in dark clothing and ski masks. Each carrying an Uzi machine pistol and they formed a semi-circle around John with Yousef falling in behind him, prodding him forward with the barrel of his gun towards tank number twelve.
“Who are you guys?” John asked sheepishly.
“Shut up, move!” Yousef prodded him with the barrel of the gun in his ribs.
“Hey, I didn’t see anything! Take all the gas you want. I won’t tell anyone anything! Just don’t kill me!” John begged as he was shoved forward roughly again. “Look, I’ve got a family. They really need me. I’m the only one that works! Come on, talk to me! Don’t kill me!” John continued to beg as he stumbled over the graveled walkway in the dark.
“Stop!” Yousef commanded and John stopped. He quickly looked around and saw that he was standing in a shallow pool of gasoline, a couple inches deep, that was pooling from under the test valve on tank twelve, several yards away. A large black duffle bag was lying next to the valve.
“Take out your service revolver!” Yousef commanded as the other four men stepped back towards the pathway to the truck staging area and loading platform, where they hesitated for only a moment to watch the drama unfolding before them.
“Guys, this is real dangerous! This stuff could blow up half of Houston! Here, take my gun.” John stated as he began pulling the gun from his holster. “I don’t care, but I gotta let someone know so that the gas can be cleaned up before there’s a problem.” John rattled on as he held out his hand holding the gun out by the trigger guard. “Hey, you know, I’ve never even fired this thing, not even at a range.”
“That’s too bad. You might have been a hero if you had. And by the way, there already is a problem.” Yousef said as he fired twice. Both bullets struck John in the stomach dropping him to the ground. As he fell he let go of his gun and clutched his stomach where blood seeped through his fingers. Upon hitting the ground, gasoline splashed in all directions, his nose filled with the stench of gasoline, and he wondered who these guys were and why had they shot him. The last thought that crossed his mind was he hoped Dallas won the game.
Yousef tossed his empty gun into the pool of spreading gasoline knowing it would be tied to the young Hispanic gang members, then he striped off the lab coat and an air bladder from around his waist tossing both to the ground. Then he quickly peeled off the fake beard, moustache and eye brows and tossed them to the ground as well He quickly turned and walked back to the main building and security office.
Once in the Security Office he found the release for the electronic gate locks and released the one nearest the loading platform. He then turned off the automated fire alarm and quickly made his way to the loading platform where he climbed into the cab of the last of four gasoline tanker trucks leaving the plant. As he climbed on board he asked the driver, “Are all the timers set?”
“Yes.” Was the one word reply, from the driver.
“Then Allah is with us so far and our names are halfway written in heaven.”
“Praise be to Allah!” The driver exclaimed with a smile beaming across his face.
The truck exited on to the deserted street and picked up speed quickly. They didn’t bother to stop for any of the traffic lights or stop signs, as the streets were completely deserted, just as the months of recon had told them they would be.
Ten minutes later the tanker truck entered the I-10 freeway heading west towards Austin, just as the sun was rising in the east. Yousef checked the dashboard clock and stated out loud, “Any moment now!”
Suddenly a blinding flash reflected off the mirrors as one of the huge tanks exploded throwing burning debris and monstrous chunks of metal for over a mile in all directions. A moment later a large dark cloud of smoke began filling the eastern sky, as a second blinding flash erupted, just to the right of the first explosion and then another and another and another. The whole refinery was quickly involved and the fire began spreading to the industrial park next to it.
*******
Saturday, January 2, 2010
an excerpt-Reprisal! The Eagle Rises!
Ok I'm going to post an excerpt but will probably be too long so it may take two or three blogs. be patient and read the blogs one after another. Her we go. Oops! I guess w won't be giving yoiu the excerpt after all. the site won't let me import it so I'll suggest that you go to Authorchriskeys.homestead and visit my website which will be up an operational soon. the excerpt is there along some additional information about me and my books.
Exciting news
Ok i'm new at this. so i'll just start. wow, I jst recieved a big honor. A publisher is going to publish my first book. That's really exciting for a writer to have first a literary agent tell you they like you stuff, then to have the very first publisher you snet it to buy it and give you a good offer as if you'd been writing for years and had other successes under your belt is really exciting. The book is titled, Reprisal! The Eagle Rises! by me Chris Keys and its being published by Strategic Book Publishers. It'll be a paperback and it will be out in June 2010.
I read lots of books, action/adventure, thrillers, who done its. It just doesn't get old. Yet i do find that some of the authors never seem to know hoe to finish their story. They reach the limax of the story and then its one or two pages on rapid closure and its over. It always makes me feel like the story wasn't told completely.
I can appreciate the idea of leaving the reader pumped up but for me that short rehash fo the stories main themes or love interest of the main characters just ruins the high your on after the climax and its a big let down. I not sure I want to read the next by that author. I usually do but i fthe next two books are that way i stop and go look for soemone else to read. I think you'll like how my book finishes but no I won't give it away. though it does leave you wnating more.
I read lots of books, action/adventure, thrillers, who done its. It just doesn't get old. Yet i do find that some of the authors never seem to know hoe to finish their story. They reach the limax of the story and then its one or two pages on rapid closure and its over. It always makes me feel like the story wasn't told completely.
I can appreciate the idea of leaving the reader pumped up but for me that short rehash fo the stories main themes or love interest of the main characters just ruins the high your on after the climax and its a big let down. I not sure I want to read the next by that author. I usually do but i fthe next two books are that way i stop and go look for soemone else to read. I think you'll like how my book finishes but no I won't give it away. though it does leave you wnating more.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)