WORDSLINGER'S NOTE: Many of you know I'm trying to get my first novel published. Due to copyright issues, I've been hesitant to discuss the details here, but ... screw it. There’s no such thing as bad publicity, unless you're Mel Gibson.
BROODING - The Heartland Chronicles Book One tells the tale of Tyler Davis. He doesn't know his father, his mother dies when he is five, and he's raised by a physically, emotionally, and spiritually abusive grandmother. Running away at sixteen, he is rescued by a benevolent gang of bikers known as The Brood.
The Brood adopt the tenderhearted boy and move him into their big ranch house in the Rockies. There he finds the first real family he has ever known, made up of wounded souls like himself. Among them:
- Albert Morehouse is the leader of The Brood. He's a disillusioned preacher's kid with his own painful past, using recreational drugs to keep his inner demons at bay. No one realizes he's actually young Tyler’s missing father.
- Rob Worthington is a brooding, devilishly handsome singer and musician who quickly becomes like an older brother.
- Pamela Beaudin is Rob’s raven-haired - and extremely codependent - girlfriend, with whom Tyler is quickly smitten.
Spiritual warfare plays a part in this story, as Tyler is trailed by an angel named Valiant and a demon who calls himself Nicholas Goodfellow. They not only comment on the action, but often influence it as well. Subtext abounds in this long and strange tale about redemption, forgiveness, and finding God in spite of Churchianity.
Update 7-17-08
So ... as promised, I am posting the brief prologue to this story below. If you like it and want more, I am considering putting up chapter-by-chapter PDF's. Please let me know if you are interested by either contacting me, or voting in the poll on the right side of the page.
I'm also seeking representation for this novel. If you're an agent or publisher (or know someone who is) and your curiosity has been piqued, please contact me.
BROODING
THE HEARTLAND CHRONICLES - BOOK ONE
by Andy Williamson
PROLOGUE: VALIANT & GOODFELLOW
Nicholas Goodfellow is not the Devil - but he knows him.
Standing in the cemetery on a late December day, snowflakes swirling lazily around him, he hides at a distance in the trees, a shadow among shadows, studying the funeral party. Bedecked in black suede boots, faded blue jeans, white linen blouse and a black velvet jacket (Modern Victorian Casual), he runs lithe fingers through long and lush blond hair, cocks an aesthetic eyebrow and sighs disappointedly. Having been called away from infernal affairs in Washington by his superior, he’d been told his new assignment was of the most urgent nature. He’d imagined all manner of things on his brief flight here to Kansas City (everything from escalating racial tensions to terrorist factions to assassin grooming), but he is more than a little insulted when finally espying his quarry.
The funeral party numbers two (not counting the minister), a rail-thin woman in her mid-sixties and a little boy (little being the operative word, the lad can’t be over five-years-old and is so fair of countenance, Nicholas has to look twice to make sure the tyke isn’t actually a little girl). Donned in coat and cap, the boy stares with traumatized eyes at the beautiful coffin now suspended over the open grave. As the minister reads from the Bible, Nick takes note of the name on the temporary grave marker: Susan Davis. This is surely the right place, but why in Hell would the services of such an accomplished demon be required at such an inconsequential funeral? Seeing movement above and behind the little boy, Nick looks up and gets his answer.
The man standing protectively over the lad is seven-feet tall, adorned in a brightly-colored tunic that does little to conceal his massive shoulders and barrel chest (not to mention the ample wings now pleated neatly upon his back). With anvil jaw, kind blue eyes and hair as long and blond as Nicholas’ own (when the demon chooses to appear in such a guise), the angel cocks his head at Goodfellow, grins knowingly and says, "Hello, Nick. I’ve been expecting you."
Nicholas nods and chuckles. "Valiant, my old friend," he replies with a wry British lilt. "I should have known. I was a mite disappointed when I saw my mission was such a wee pretty one. I may not know what’s in store for such a mere broth of a lad, but surely your presence announces very special plans." Stepping nigh to the boy, Nick leans down and inspects him more closely. (Valiant’s hand starts toward his sword.) "Look at those eyelashes," Nick speaks. "Kind of a girlie boy. Reminds me of a shepherd boy we fought over so long ago. I’ve learned not to underestimate as such. Worlds can be turned upon such a puny axis."
Valiant squats down and places one massive hand upon the boy’s shoulder, ministering what comfort he can on such a horrible day. Gazing up at the now handsomely visaged demon, he asks, "What would you like to know?"
Chuckling again, Nick scoffs, "What are you saying, Val? You’re going to offer up such background information freely?"
"Why not? Who’s to say such knowledge wouldn’t hinder your efforts more than help."
"Touché." Gesturing at the grave, Nick speaks, "His mother?"
Valiant nods.
Walking past the old woman: "His grandmother?"
Valiant nods again.
"And his father?"
Standing up, Valiant replies, "To understand this boy, you do indeed need to know the story of his parents. But perhaps it would be easier to show you than tell you."
"And just how do you intend to do that?"
Valiant proffers his hand.
Nicholas just stares at it. "You must take me for a fool."
Offering it more fervently, Valiant says, "We were once closer than brothers, you and I. Just because you left when your master chose to lead his rebellion against our Lord, doesn’t mean I’ve lost all affection for you. I’ve been instructed to tell you all you need to know about this boy - and further - the ability to step back through time and show you what happened. We need to go back about fifteen years or so. It is a story of murder and mayhem, sex and sin, drugs and demons, legalism and hypocrisy ... you know, all your favorite things. The fighting will come soon enough - believe me, I’m looking forward to it as much as you - but this is only the beginning. Take my hand."
Nicholas Goodfellow hesitates for a moment, but finally reaches out and grasps the hand of his angelic old friend.
As galvanic brilliance flashes around them, jerking them backward through a scintillating tunnel, they end up in another part of town, floating over what looks like an old movie theater. Sinking down through the roof (as lofty and intricately designed as a cathedral), they spy a man and boy seated next to one another, eating popcorn and watching a black-and-white film.
The man looks like a hippie or a biker and the little boy ...
The little boy is ...
