Shane Kroetsch

Dark and Introspective Fiction

Shane

Water

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I hold an arm up against the chain-link barrier and rest my forehead on my arm. Past the bridge railing, I watch the murky water flow. It seems gentle, but memories of thrashing against a similar current hold fast in my mind. I pick up a stick from beside my feet and poke it through. It spins and lands on the water with barely a ripple. I watch downstream until it disappears.

A scream brings me back. A mallard waddles along the rocky shore, followed by a child, no more than three years old. A man is pushing through a break in the fence that separates the walking path from the river. He shouts for the child to stop. The young one is not distracted by the pleading of its father, nor by the wail of sirens or the pulsating flash of red lights. It stumbles forward in miniature sandals and co-ordinated shorts and t-shirt with a wide smile and outstretched arms.

The duck hits the surface of the river and glides away. The child slows as it wades into the water, stops when the bottoms of its shorts get wet. It calls out, dejected. The father is kneeling at the fence, held at his shoulders by two strangers.

The water along the shore rises. It boils and surges, taller than the child, and envelops it. The swell hits the shore and breaks. As it recedes, the now shiny pebbles and stones are stained red. The surface stills, and the child is gone. A dark shadow slithers away under the bridge, back to the deep.

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Photo by David Grandmougin on Unsplash

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Stay Safe

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Mello closed one eye and spun the spoked wheel. He narrowed in on the slight wobble as the tick, tick, tick slowed. He held the wheel to stop it, his thumb strategically placed.

            “What are you doing?”

            Mello dug in his pocket for the tiny spanner he found while on their run into the north-east quadrant of the city. “Fine tuning.”

            Sierra put her hands in her pockets and looked to the end of the alley. “Please don’t tell me you were dumpster diving again.”

            Mello shrugged. “Couldn’t help it.” He slipped the spanner over one of the spokes and twisted. The twang of metal rang out as it gave and turned.

            “It’s going to slow us down.”

            “It won’t slow us down.” Mello adjusted the spokes on either side, then closed his eye and spun the wheel again. “I can build a trailer. We can get around faster.”

            Sierra sighed. “It’s more to worry about. We’ll be a bigger target.”

            A shadow passed overhead, near silent, but with the tell-tale scent of ozone. Sierra pushed back against the wall. Only Mello’s eyes moved as he scanned the thin strip of sky above them. When dim light returned, he put the spanner back in his pocket, then stood and flipped the bike upright. “We can carry more. Won’t have to be looking for supplies all the time.”

            Sierra crouched down. “We have a good system, Mel. Stay agile. Stay safe.”

            Mello smiled as he pulled on the levers and pushed the bike forward and back. “I promise, I’ll dump it the second it causes a problem.”

            Sierra lowered her eyes. “I don’t know…”

            At the mouth of the alley, a blur of colour flashed past, then another. Soon they heard shouting, and a scream. Sierra hefted a tall backpack from the ground beside her and slipped it over her shoulder. “I guess we’ll have to argue about this later. We need to go.”

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Photo by Amy Elting on Unsplash

Pandemics, Real and Imagined

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Image via @mcpheeceo

Any rational human being should be able to look at their life and say,

“You know what, that thing scares me a little, I think I’ll stay away from it.”

Apparently, I’m not rational. I’m also terrible at taking my own advice, choosing to run toward my fears instead of away from them.

I don’t know when or where zombies became such a problem for me. It’s like one day, poof, the mere thought of them keeps me up at night. I’ve never been one to watch them on TV, movies, or read about them in books, with one notable exception, that being World War Z. Oh wait, there’s the Resident Evil movies too. Anyway, like I was saying…

In this instance, I took it one step further. I didn’t just indulge; I wrote a damn book about them. On top of that, they’re not just zombies, they’re pathogen zombies, so it’s like a pandemic. My timing is either perfect, or it’s crap. I guess we’re about to find out. For one, I’m hoping people are looking for something to read in between searching the land for toilet paper.

I’m pretty sure this story has been told before, but let’s take it from the top. Near the end of 2014, as far as my shitty memory can recall, a storm hit the east coast of Canada and the US that threaten to ruin a lot of people’s day. Flights were cancelled and in New York, a curfew set in place. Because I’m the paranoid type, I immediately began to ponder what it might be covering up. The real storm was a bit of a dud. The storm that started to build in my mind, at least to me, was something much more interesting.

Unfortunately, it got a bit messy from there. I started the story, then set it aside. I picked it up for Nanowrimo the year after, then set it aside again. My intention was to publish it along with a collection of short stories before the end of 2017. It turned out that the storm story wasn’t nearly ready, and self-publishing was a little more involved than I thought, so I focused on the collection. That was published a year ago February, and you would think that would give me all sorts of time to get the novel done. Like I mentioned in the beginning, here is where life took some turns on me that I hadn’t anticipated.

A job that I wasn’t super fond of started making me miserable, but I got packaged off. Hooray, right? I decided to drag my best friend onto the creative freight train. Hooray again! So many good ideas! Then life gave me the middle finger and whole new challenges stood in my way. Somewhere in the mess, I decided to make the original Storm novel book two of a three-part series, and I wrote what is now known as Into the Storm.

Into came fairly quick. I tend to focus on how shitty human beings are and explore that in my work, but it’s dark in ways that I haven’t written about before. I was pretty impressed with the first draft but going back to it after a couple of weeks I saw that it needed a lot of work. I believe the words I used were, “this is garbage.” So, I did what is becoming my process, I moved things around by millimetres until I was happy enough with it to push it out into the world. That time is now. Here’s a fun little teaser that we put together for it.

But wait, there’s more. Book two, Surviving the Storm, will be released in three months. Book three, Chasing the Storm, will arrive two months after that. Seems a little crazy, right? Welcome to being me. I will readily admit that it’s a lot to deal with, but I’ve been given a chance to take a shot, and I’m going to take it.

Regardless of everything else going on, I’m proud of the final product. I’m proud that the vision Kaleigh and I have been working on is finally bearing fruit. All going well, this is just the beginning.

Not that I want to dwell on it, but the world is a scary and confusing place right now. If you’re isolating, or just need to get away from things for a bit, I know of a good ebook or two you should check out…

Into the Storm

This and That but Mostly the Other

Until next time, stay safe and well.

The Demon

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I turned the light on and pointed it toward the painting on the wall. At first, the image was dull and lifeless. Then the brush strokes swelled. They flowed and shrank, as the demon opened its eyes. It watched me in silence. What it hoped to see, I was never sure. When it was finished, it focused an unknown object across the room.

“My task is complete. Set me free.”

“No,” I said. “I quite enjoy our arrangement.”

Its lip curled, and its eyes grew dark as they turned back to me. “We had a deal.”

“A deal that is no more a thing than the words spoken to seal it. If our positions were reversed, I doubt you would think twice about doing the same.”

The demon bared needle-like teeth and eased its eyes shut. “When I escape this prison, know that the tasks I have been performing will be a kindness compared to your fate.” I shrugged. “We’ll deal with that when the time comes. Until then, I have something I need you to take care of.”

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This and That but Mostly the Other ebook has undergone a rejuvenation! I’ve taken everything I’ve learned over the last year to make it bigger and make it better. I’d be grateful if you would consider checking it out, click here for a link to your retailer of choice.

Making Old Things Better

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I told myself growing up that I wouldn’t be someone who is busy all the time. I’m here to tell you I failed.

I have a talent for coming up with make-work projects. Cars, guitars, bikes, and repurposing random things into furniture. Books fall into this category as well, but more on that later. My list of projects has been shrinking of late, but I’m sure I’ll come up with more soon.

The latest build came about because I wanted a new corner shelf near the entrance of the house. I’ve built a couple other crate shelves before, but this time wanted to try something different. We found the crates at Ikea. Because they need to be assembled, I thought it would be easier to refinish. I have a quick and easy refinish method that has become my go-to. Paint, distress, stain, and poly. For most projects, it’s a straightforward process. This was not one of those times. It was a pain because of all the slats and nooks and crannies. When we finished, I swore I would never do this again, but I’ve said that before. When it came time to assemble, I wasn’t happy with simply backing them into the corner, so I came up with an arrangement that I think works well. Once in place, washers and bolts run through the slats keep it together and minimise the worry about it shifting or tipping. The finishing touches came from all over the house. The J is in memoriam of my mother-in-law, Jane Arams.

The books came from my Paternal Grandma. She joined a book club in the 50’s and recently decided to pass them along. The camera is something I picked up at a garage sale years ago, but it shows my appreciation for photography and old things.

I purchased the log vase about a year ago, but it never really found a home, until now. The sunflowers are for my wife, Alicia, because they are her favourite flower.

The side tables I built last year were more straight forward. The wood came from the attic of an old shed on my Maternal Grandma’s property as we were readying it for sale. After moving our main floor living room around, I knew we needed some sort of table for coffee cups and books as we sit by the fire, and of course I would rather build than buy. They aren’t perfect, like most things in life, but that in itself reminded me of a few things. Slow down, pay attention, and eventually, things will get better.

My desk was the project that started this whole situation off. I’m not sure how I got the idea, but after finding a pommel horse for free on the local buy and sell, I tore it down and made a plan. It doesn’t get used as much as it should, I tend to sit down on the couch and do much of my work and writing in front of the TV, but it’s something I’m proud to say that I made. It’s unique, and functional, which to me is a win-win.

The anniversary of my first self-published effort is fast approaching. It was intended to be practice for my first novel, but as that project blew up into something more complex, a lot of time has passed, and I find myself more than a little out of practice. At least that’s what the anxiety is telling me. Somewhere along the line I decided to put together a companion, a short-short compilation. After realizing the amount of work I was creating, another project on top of a number of other projects, I decided to add the new stories to the original compilation. The book now benefits from new and better stories, a refined edit, and a few small tweaks to the cover. It also looks a lot nicer, thanks to a little program called Vellum.

Traditionally I format for print using Word, and for ebook using a program called Jutoh. There’s nothing wrong with either, but I’m a huge fan of simple and intuitive. As I write this, I have approved the interior file, and ordered test copies. The plan is to relaunch on its anniversary, February 21st, but it will be a quiet affair. I wanted this effort to bring it to the level I had hoped for it initially. It’s never too late to be better.

If you want to learn more about Vellum, click here.

In other news… Into the Storm is officially in the copy edit stage. If I haven’t upset my editor too much, it should be ready for another pass soon. The cover is coming together, and I’m excited for the final product. The launch. Is planned for April, and it’s a little weird being so far ahead of schedule, but we have an ambitious launch plan so. I know we will need all the time we can get.

My focus for the moment is going through and making revisions to Surviving the Storm. I haven’t looked at it in a while, not really since I chopped the first 2,000 words or so after I realized it wasn’t starting in the right place. I thought it was in pretty good shape, that opinion quickly changed. As you can see, there is a lot of red pen to deal with, or in the case of the first few pages, a lot of pencil.

It’s daunting, but I know I’ll get through it. I need to, I’ve been working on this book for almost three years now, and I’m ready to move on to any one of the eight other projects that I have in the queue. I know I’ll be proud of it, but it’s a moment in time. To some extent I’m ready to show how I’ve grown, how I’m better as a writer.

Shane

Long Live the King

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It’s quiet. For some reason, that makes me sad. Normally I’d pay good money for the people around me to shut up for a few minutes. Talking about their offspring or last night at the pub. Reminiscing about glory days never to be seen again. It’s like if they don’t have attention paid to their insignificant little lives, they’d cease to exist all together. Like most things, now that I’ve got what I wanted, what I wanted has changed.

It’s quiet because nobody knows what to say. They don’t know what to say, because there isn’t anything to say. The newspapers have it covered. Tragedy. Terror. Assassination. They only use the word assassination when it’s someone important, but then, that’s exactly what this is. It could not, in fact, be more important.

Yesterday a man brought a gun into a place that he wasn’t meant to. He used the gun, as one would, to end a life. Why he chose to end that life, in the end, I’m afraid we’ll never know. The man is what you’d call, no longer available.

A human life is a miracle that should be cherished. As far as anyone knows, it’s an anomaly, not found anywhere else in the universe. Yet, we go out of our way to ignore that fact every day. We think ourselves more important than those around us. That disregard, for another human being with a different point of view is all it took. And now, our king is dead.

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Photo by JR Korpa on Unsplash

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