Sunday, June 21, 2015

My Father

So, I've never talked about this publicly before... I've always kept it to myself. Only my family and closest friends know even a shred of what I'm about to talk about. But last night brought the situation to a head for me in a major way and I think I need to get it out of my system.

I haven't had anything to do with my father for about 15 years now. And even then, aside from living with him for a short stint when I had nowhere else to go (maybe a couple months, maybe less, it's all a blur now), before that period of about six months of him being in my life again, I hadn't had anything to do with him for seven years before that; since around the time he was caught, arrested, and convicted of child molesting for the second time (no he did not molest me, and no I'm not going to specify who he did molest).

Last night, I was up very late watching some comedy shows when I had a thought to look up my father. You see a few years ago, due to some weird legal loophole in Indiana laws, he and many other child molesters were taken off of the sex offender list. (Isn't it such a great feeling to know that's even possible?) I often used his listing to keep up with where he was so I would know how best to avoid him. Upon searching for him, I found a listing with his exact name in an obituary. And given how many years it's been since I had anything to do with him, I thought the age was right and I honestly have no memory of what his birthday is, as, before now, I've had no reason to keep that information in mind.

The first time he was convicted, I was in Kindergarten. Shortly after that, my parents divorced. And even though, he was still given visitation of me. I'd like to hope laws have changed since those days. Still, my father never molested me. He didn't have a thing for little boys, he had a thing for little girls. What he did do to me was quite different. Just some good old-fashioned neglect with a side of verbal and physical abuse.

I still have memories etched in my mind of living in a dinky blue trailer right off of highway 40 just west of 231 and, though my mother worked her ass off to support us kids, we still couldn't afford to have a phone, so when he wouldn't show up to pick me up for the weekend, Mom would be forced to drive me to a nearby gas station to call him to find out why.

Most of those times he didn't answer.

Others he gave lame excuses at best.

Then he'd come back around like nothing happened and I'd get a few consecutive visits in a row before the next time he dropped off the face of the Earth.

Then there was his temper... Unlike many parents who have temper problems, he only beat marks into me a couple of times. I was lucky in that regard. I can't help but wonder, had he more often picked me up for visits, would that have been worse? I'll never forget the time he and my step mother were screwing in the other room, and, having watched some shitty vampire movie, my five or six-year-old mind started playing tricks on me in the dark and I began to yell out for help.

He burst into the room half-naked and seething, belt in hand, and I learned that night what I should have truly been afraid of...

And still, being a little dumb kid... I loved my father. I wanted nothing more than his approval. I didn't yet know that people could or would even do the horrible things that he had done and would go on to do again. For a long time, I thought the way he treated me was my fault. My little child brain couldn't comprehend that my funny, charming, sweet father could have possibly been the one to blame.

When he didn't show up to pick me up and I stood at the payphone at that goddamn gas station listening to the phone ring over and over, tears running down my face, I thought it had to be me.

When he would lose his temper and scream at me, call my mother a stupid bitch, or beat on me over and over and leave belt or hand marks on my body, I thought it could only be me.

Then I grew up... a lot faster than most of my peers in some regards. And as a young teen, my dad actually started coming to get me more regularly. But by then I knew. I knew what he'd done, and I at least thought I understood that the way he had treated me wasn't my fault. So, I would go to his house, hang out with my friends who lived in his neighborhood, hit him up for money every chance I could get, and spend as much of the weekend away from him as I could get away with.

It was my little way of getting back at him, I guess. Of dealing with what I knew and what I hated about him. And, even though I didn't think I did at the time... I still loved my father.

From my earliest memories of him, in between his terrible temper and the long periods of neglect, my father often seemed warm, funny, charming, and caring. In those times, I thought I had what I wanted much more than a father. I thought I had a dad. In fact, I know now that much of my playful sense of humor is very much like his was. And every time I joke around and kid with my own son, that realization reoccurs in me. Because my son also has a lot of that same sense of humor. It's like a distorted and reversed mirror. Where the original was so covered with black squirming maggots crawling over each other to eat away the tiny sections still able to reflect light, this new one shines mostly clear and clean with only the occasional streak or blemish.

But I know now why and how my father was so charming. He was a calculated and cunning charismatic sociopath. He would do whatever he had to do to make you like him, to make you want to make him happy. To make you do whatever he wanted. And when that didn't work out, when you failed to make him happy, he would lose his temper and show the true monster that lurked behind his sweet wholesome mask. But more often than not, he would only show that side to his wives and his children and the targets of his atrocious road rage.

That... in a nutshell, was my father.

For years now, I've dreaded how I would feel when I found out the old man had kicked the bucket. Especially ever since I learned one of the hardest truths of this whole situation. It was probably late 2000/early 2001 and Jen and I were driving down Highway 37 on the south side of Indy. She was pregnant with Jacob at the time. And with the realization that I had a son on the way, everything I had lived through with my father was very much on my mind.

And it was then that it hit me. For years, I had been telling myself that I hated my father. For years, I had focused my feelings and concerns on his other victims. For years I had shrugged off how his behavior, both toward myself and toward the little girls that he had so terribly hurt, had affected me. For years I had decided that I wasn't important in the equation, that my feelings didn't matter. And I realized for the first time in my life that night that they did. They mattered.

And, as long as I kept them locked inside myself, they would continue to tear me apart.

I had to pull off to the side of the road that night, I was balling so bad... as I poured out every thought and feeling that was going through me to Jen.

Late last night, early this morning, I sat alone at my computer, Jen had already gone to bed, and the same feeling went through me as did that night. The same realization. One that still tears at me and conflicts me and burns through every vein in my body--probably the hardest thing I've ever come to terms with in my life--though deranged and tortured and tragic as it may feel...

I still love my father.

I'm still that little boy hoping for the approval of a man who could never give it. A man who could never know approval. Only deceit, fury, and treachery. A man who could never truly love me back. And I'm not closed to the possibility that maybe, just maybe, I'm wrong and he's changed everything that was ever terrible about himself and he's become the person he should have always been.


But now, it's too late.

And not because he's dead, because, after waking today, I did some digging on the internet until I found out for sure.

The obituary wasn't his. He's very likely still alive.

And even though, in some fucked up, bitter, terrible way, the love I have for my father which is equally made of burning swollen hatred still exists; unlike some sappy bullshit talk show, I know that no matter what, no matter how much I may want to for a variety of mixed up reasons. I can never, ever meet him eye to eye again. I can never speak so much as a word to that man again. And I would rather die than let him anywhere even remotely near my children.

I would rather take his life than let him near mine.

Thursday, April 9, 2015

Fucked Unlimited

Any other independent/self-published authors considering pulling all their books from Amazon? I seriously am.

Ever since Kindle Unlimited, my sales have sank exponentially. So far this month, I've sold two books. One of which making a whole 33 cents! Just before KU launched I was making enough monthly to cover a chunk of our bills. Writing was starting to seem like it was headed in the direction of becoming a viable means to make a living for me.

My debut novel Shining in Crimson has been free on Amazon since around late 2012, early 2013, I honestly can't remember it's been so long. I set it free as a loss leader to gain sales of its sequel, Fading in Darkness. this proved to be a fair strategy as I was almost immediately selling between fifty and sixty copies a month for a while. Then it started to slow down some in late 2013 a little. So I started learning more about SEO keywords and how they work on Amazon and with just a few changes, starting in December 2013, suddenly people were downloading SIC by the thousands every month. This lasted with no signs of wavering until July of 2014...

When Amazon launched the Kindle Unlimited program.

Now, I could fold and sign my books up for the program, but I don't think that I should be strong-armed into making my books less available for people who choose to read eBooks via some other device. I've also not heard any convincing evidence that it would even be to my benefit to include my titles in the program. Quite the opposite, in fact. So... for the meantime, I'm still biding my time and weighing my options. I suppose it's possible that I'm wrong and the book has just lost all its steam. I don't discount that possibility but, given the ridiculously large number of Kindle consumers, I do severely doubt it. So, I'm posting this to be transparent and see how this is affecting other indie/self pub authors. I think it's time we start unveiling the damages this program has had for many independent authors and small publishers.

For example... I haven't written a single word of fiction in the past thirty or forty days. The short fiction market is like molasses and, having mostly made my longer fiction available independently in the past, it's now becoming clear that, for me, writing has gone back to being more of a hobby. Don't get me wrong. I love to write. But how much money I make writing severely affects how much time I'm able to commit to it. It's just an unfortunate reality. So, when I start writing again, my main focus will be writing a brand new novel specifically with the intention of snagging an agent and hopefully getting a deal with a major publisher. Otherwise, I just don't see my work getting read.

Even my new works I put out last year have barely moved, even with a couple of small pushes from Amazon during that short period when they were pushing the new KDP pre-releases and a goddamn positive Publishers Weekly review. So... from here on out, more or less, I'm back to square one. Although I'm still not decided whether my current works will continue to be available, I am no longer an independent author. I'm just another hobbyist working to make their first true pro sale. And unfortunately with the market like it is, I'm not likely to count pro short sales in that category either. Nope. From here on, my first pro sale will now have to be a novel to a major publisher.

Amazon... a company that had prided itself on creating careers in independent writing has managed to also destroy mine. So, now it's up to me to do things the old-fashioned way.

Like a Desolate Landscape Stretching Out Before You...

Some of you might recall that I also make music under the moniker of Escape From Saturn. Some of you may even give half of a shit. For those of you who haven't already clicked that shiny X at the corner of the page (or tab), you're truly fucked now! Because now I have your attention and I'm going to exploit it...

You see, I've been working on new music and now I'm going to make you listen to it... Yes, you! No... wait, come back! Hey, why are you running away???

Well... shit... just in case you come back...

Monday, March 9, 2015

Change of Pace

So, this is probably going to be some disappointing news for the handful of you who actually care, but RISING FROM ASHES: EMPIRE OF BLOOD BOOK THREE will not be ready in time for the April release I previously announced. At this point I'm not mentioning any definitive date so I don't just end up putting my foot in my mouth again. My apologies for those who might have had their hopes up, but Empire of Blood is just not where my creative energy is taking me right now. I'll be sure and update this blog when there's something concrete to update with. For now, thank you for your incredible patience and for following my work.

Friday, January 16, 2015

RISING FROM ASHES Chapter 1 and A Brand New Exclusive Story!

So for those who might have missed it the first chapter of RISING FROM ASHES: EMPIRE OF BLOOD BOOK THREE went up on Patreon, Wattpad, and (in the form of a video reading on) Youtube! (The audio is also free to download over at Patreon and you can also find the video down below in this post.) I'm gonna be doing at least one chapter a week up until and on past the official full eBook/paperback release which will be...

Drum roll, please! ......................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................April 28th, 2015!

Yeah, I know you were hoping for sooner. However, I really want to do something different with this release. Hence the video and audio readings. I'm hoping people will interact with me on this. I'd really like us to experience this last EoB novel together in a fun and exciting kind of way. Kindle folks can set it up via the instructions on my Patreon page to get chapters directly on their devices and I'd love it if you all would check out my videos and read along. Some of you may be old enough to remember those old children's books that came with the record that you'd put in and listen to someone read the book to you  as you read along with them. That's almost exactly what I'm going for only directly from author to reader. From me to you. Here's the video of chapter one:

I've also worked on improving the perks and things for my Patreon page, giving the $5 a month package access to all of my published titles, new releases early (Including RISING FROM ASHES!), and rare and unreleased stories.

And once a month, I'll be releasing a brand new story completely exclusive to Patreon. In fact I just uploaded January's story. It's a 10,000 word novelette called Koadie's Monster and it's a stand alone story from my Ray Garret/Lifeline cyberpunk/crime series, in fact for those of you who've read Exit Reality, you might recognize that name as a fairly older Koadie Lawson features prominently in that 2013 novella. In a sense this is sort of his origin story. Like all of my other Lifeline stories, you don't need to have read any of the others to know what's going on. But for chronological sake, this story would be set before any of the other Lifeline stories I've put out. Here's the blurb I wrote for it:

Young Koadie Lawson is tired of Rudy bullying him on the bus. Every day the older boy picks on him, beats on him, and sometimes even spits on him. But today Koadie has a plan. He's going to finally get his revenge.

Using a new Lifeline program called LifeCraft, he creates the perfect interactive perceptual trap for Rudy in the form of a fake porn file. But when Rudy takes the bait, Koadie gets more revenge than he bargained for.

Now it's up to Ray Garret to go in and save Rudy from his own perceptual hell and bring the poor kid back to the real world before there's nothing left to save.

But first... he has to make it past Koadie's Monster...

Not enough? How about a sample?


Koadie's Monster


Robert S. Wilson

Koadie had been thinking about Rudy Donavan when he started building the monster. Rudy and every other one of those bastards he had to walk through to get to the back of the bus every morning. But mostly Rudy. At least in Lifeshare Koadie could make up his own world, make up his own rules. Virtual or not, they were still better than that shithole of a real world out there.
Anyone looking from the outside would have seen a young boy with dark skin and blue eyes sitting at a computer, a small black plastic device sticking out of his ear. But these days only the dead and the elderly didn’t know what a Lifeline was. From Koadie’s perspective, he floated in a virtual tunnel, facing his latest creation, surrounded by a dull gray graphical interface with enough buttons and dials to keep a kid busy for centuries. He searched through the list of mods from a black side panel hanging in the air. He needed something especially gruesome to add to his monster—which currently consisted of a large man-shaped shadow and two red eyes.
Wooden items, ceramic items, common items, fabrics, liquids, smooth items, sharp items—that’s it. He tapped on the square marked SHARP ITEMS and it exploded into a huge sliding panel of icons, each one a different kind of sharp object. Knives, swords, daggers, eating utensils, rough broken pieces of wood, jagged rocks, rusty nails—perfect! Koadie grabbed the rusty nails and pulled them down onto the blank portion of the monster’s face, below the red glowing irises. He angled two nails downward so they resembled long sharp fangs. A chill rolled up his spine as he beheld his completed masterpiece.
He’d spent the last five weeks designing the setting for his revenge and now he finally had the means of delivering it. Koadie willed the list of settings to appear and it did so just as quickly as his brain had called for it. By now, he had accumulated quite a number of self-made settings for various uses from playing to studying, to just wanting a place to be left alone. Tucked in neatly with his usual favorite play places, the .lif file titled FREAK_RUDY_OUT waited to be chosen. Koadie renamed it to HOT_FUCKING_BLONDE.lif then tapped the icon and the world around him transformed random pixel by random pixel into a small unkempt yard in front of a modest white house dimly lit by a blurry silver sickle in a foggy sky. The chipping paint was faintly visible in the hazy light. Every detail of it was as real as any recording Koadie had ever seen in the Lifeline right down to the moisture reflecting off each individual blade of grass. He looked up. The shadow of an exaggerated feminine silhouette shaded in from the yellow-lit window just below the pinnacle of the house. Koadie grinned.
He willed the Setting Variables table to appear before him and started flipping through the different rooms within the house. When he came to the bedroom at the bottom of the list, he opened the Insert menu and tapped the New Item button. Then found his monster in the list, tapped it and watched as the progress bar filled with blue from left to right. A chime filled his ears to mark the task complete. He laughed and willed himself out of the setting then out of the Lifeline altogether. Mama’s old laptop and the plain brown wooden coffee table slowly resolved before him. He pulled the Lifeline device from his ear as the usual sense of displacement left him dizzy and disoriented.
With a ringing in his head and a smile on his face, he set the small black device on the table, got up from the living room floor, and ran off to his room to get ready for bed. Mama would be home soon and he didn’t want to get a busted butt again for being late to bed.


The next morning when it was time for Mama to leave for work, Koadie sat outside swinging on the porch swing, wrapped up in his winter coat, books at his side. Mama pretended to gasp at the sight of him as she came out the front door and then laughed, letting out a huge cloud of thick white fog. Koadie smiled and kicked his legs in the air.
“Ain’t it awful early fa yo ass to be out here waitin’ on the bus already?”
“I dunno…” Koadie couldn’t stop grinning.
“Whatcha smilin’ about? You look like you got a secret, lil’ man.”
“No, Mama, I’m just in a good mood. Have a good day at work…”
“Oh shit.” She looked at her watch. “Yeah, I betta go, baby. You have a good day at school, now, ya hear?” She kissed Koadie on the forehead with a big wet slap and turned around just in time to reveal Rudy Donavon walking up to the bus stop with a big spiteful grin on his big fat face.
Great, there goes that good mood.
Koadie thought about his plan for revenge. He was hoping to let his worst enemy’s first attack of the day bounce off of him when the time came. A minute later Mama was gone in a cloud of smoke from the ear-shattering muffler of her huge white Oldsmobile and all that remained were four boys waiting at the bus stop with big intimidating smirks on each of their faces.
Koadie let his mouth fall into the usual frown and got up from the porch swing then dragged his feet down the narrow concrete steps.
He didn’t have to pretend to be sad for very long. Usually the abuse didn’t start until they were on the bus. Rudy would be too busy telling his boys about the latest girl he “banged,” but this morning was different. As soon as Koadie stepped up onto the curb in front of the bus stop, one of Rudy’s buddies, Corbin, shoved Koadie hard. Fighting to keep his balance, Koadie felt something jab in behind his ankles and then he hit the pavement. Rudy Donavan stood over him laughing with accomplishment while Koadie fought to suck air into his lungs.
“Oh, I’m sorry, shitface, did you trip over my foot?” Rudy looked at the other boys, and they all laughed. “Here, let me help you, shitface.” Rudy bent down and offered his hand to Koadie, who knew it was only going to end badly, but took it anyway. Rudy pulled Koadie up with pale delicate fingers right into a waiting sucker punch from his other hand. Koadie bent forward holding his stomach. Monster or not, Koadie had had enough. He was just about to throw his books down and start swinging when the bus pulled up behind him. The double doors folded open and Rudy ran up to be first in line on the bus, glaring back at Koadie with a half smile.


Mrs. Dillman’s class helped Koadie calm down and remember that he had a solid plan in place. By the time they’d moved on to English, the last subject of the day, Koadie was anticipating the bus ride home with great eagerness. He circled the predicate in each sentence just like the directions explained and had the assignment on Mrs. Dillman’s desk before anyone else. Then he sat waiting with twiddling thumbs for the bell to ring and his bus number to be called. He gripped the usb stick in his pocket tightly. If Rudy took the bait, it was only a matter of time before Koadie got him back. Big time.


Fighting to keep his smile in check, Koadie climbed into the bus. Most of the seats were empty, but that didn’t matter. He wouldn’t have to seek out Rudy, the bus ride home always brought Rudy to him. But unlike any other day, this time Koadie wanted Rudy to make his appearance. Wanted Rudy to pick a fight with him. Wanted Rudy to find the usb stick in his pocket and wanted Rudy to steal it, take it home, and use it.
When the bus was full and the voices of teen and preteen girls and boys rang out over the local droning pop radio station, Koadie reached in his pocket and wrapped his sweaty fingers one by one over the small black usb stick and waited. About half an hour and half the kids dropped off later, a hand reached over the green vinyl seat behind Koadie and smacked him on the head so hard the sting of it brought a chill up his spine and through his shoulders.
Rudy laughed that wicked laugh of little bastard bullies. “Hey, shithead, what’s ‘a matter?” He pushed Koadie into the window side of the seat and pressed his body against him, squeezing him into the wall of the bus. Koadie’s breath left him for the second time that day and he gasped to get it back. Rudy’s eyes twinkled as he stuck his middle knuckle out like a jagged point and punched Koadie’s leg at close painful range. It was time, Koadie realized as the tears built up around his eyes, threatening to spill over onto his cheeks and down his nose.
He shoved back against Rudy with all his might, putting every ounce of concentration into each muscle as he pressed against him, but it was like pushing against a concrete wall covered in solid steel. Rudy let out a breathy giggle and slammed back into him, pushing harder this time, squeezing Koadie even more and elbowing him several times in the ribs for good measure. “I don’t like it when you do that, shithead.” From Koadie’s limited view he caught the eye of the bus driver for what had to be the dozenth time and just like each occasion before, the man quickly turned his eyes away pretending he hadn’t seen.
Koadie did his best to get a good kick in, but Rudy grabbed his leg and pulled him closer then let his fists take turns punching Koadie in the stomach. Right, left, right, left. Koadie leaned forward in between punches and threw out his own fist in a phony attempt to hit back. Rudy took the bait and grabbed Koadie’s hand. Koadie let go of the drive and it fell to the floor with a loud plastic clack.
“What—” Rudy shoved Koadie back against the wall then reached down blindly with his eyes on Koadie and his lips stretched into a sideways grin. “Looks like you dropped something, shithead.” Rudy sat upright holding the flash drive in his hand like a trophy to tower over all others. “Well, looky here.” He turned the small drive over in his hands. “Thirty-two terabytes. Nice. Thank you very much, shithead. I’ll treasure this always.” He scooted over real close to Koadie. “Here, I’ve got a gift for you too.” He leaned down and spit full on in Koadie’s face, leaving a wad of gooey phlegm sliding down Koadie’s cheekbone.
Just then the bus came to a halt and Rudy grabbed the seat in front of them and rose to his feet, gave Koadie one more devious look, then sauntered down the middle aisle and down the steps off the bus. Koadie grinned with a face covered in mucus.


The paper towels the bus driver gave him had gotten most of the nastiness off of his face and out of his hair, but when Koadie got home, the first thing he did was run for the bathroom and take a quick shower to thoroughly wash his face. He was a very independent child, always cleaning himself, taking care of his chores, and finishing his homework without having to be asked or reminded. But what he managed in responsibility he couldn’t seem to balance with social skills. He knew that. Understood it. But he didn’t know how to change it—or at least he hadn’t known before. Now, he had the answer. Eye for an eye and tooth for a tooth. He had learned the phrase sitting with Mama at church and now he would put it to use. Clean from his shower, Koadie dried himself off and dressed, then went straight to his bedroom and turned on Mama’s old gray laptop.


Rudy Donavon had just finished washing the old man’s antique Chevy Volt when he remembered the little shithead’s flash drive. He set the soapy blue rag down in the water bucket, dried his hands on his pants and pulled out the drive and looked it over. He wondered what was on it. Probably stupid kid stuff. Thirty-two terabytes wasn’t bad, but he wished the kid had let loose of a 256 or more. Oh well, little shithead hooked me up anyway. He let out a cackle that went on until the voice of his father stopped him cold.
“Just what the fuck are you laughing about, boy? Get back to work until that goddamn car is sparkling.” Father’s belt buckle gleamed in the dwindling sunlight, catching Rudy’s eye. He nodded, slipping the drive into his pocket quickly so his father wouldn’t see, and picked the wet rag back out of the bucket and went back to scrubbing the cherry red Volt.
Bob Donavon was a stocky man, tan and muscular with reddish blond hair, thick glasses, and a shaggy mustache that gave him a deceptively friendly appearance. But his son knew better. All too well. Standing in neat beige slacks with plain gray suspenders, his shirt thrown aside after a hard day’s work, cold beer in hand, Bob sat back down on the front porch watching Rudy with a look Rudy thought a prison guard might give an inmate who’d recently tried to escape.
Rudy spotted three crushed empty cans on the floor scattered beside his father’s feet. Four? Great. The evening had only just begun.


It was full on dark when Rudy was finally done washing the old man’s Volt. After scrubbing every last inch of its metal shell, vacuuming and scraping every crevice inside, and finally toweling it all dry to his father’s drunkenly absurd expectations, the old man finally let him go up to his room, but not without a few slurred threats of black eyes and bruised ass cheeks.
Rudy pulled out his old laptop and hooked up the flash drive. He hoped to use the stick to hide his latest Lifeline porn. The last time his father found his virtual perceptual porn collection, he beat Rudy black and blue and then took the files for himself. Rudy knew because that night the moans that came from his father’s usually lonely bedroom came from one solitary male voice. It wasn’t likely he’d be scrubbing that from his brain anytime soon.
But he didn’t let that stop him from finding the juiciest girls online though. At least that way he wasn’t lying to the other guys when he bragged about the girls he banged all the time. Deep down, he knew he didn’t have the balls yet to do it with a real girl. Besides, real girls wouldn’t give him the time of day.
The flash drive’s root folder popped up on his screen with only a handful of files. Silly kid stuff just like he thought but—wait. What’s this?
Nice. A present from shithead.
Rudy set the Laptop down quietly and snuck over to his bedroom door, locking it. Then he opened his desk drawer and pulled out a black phallic-shaped Lifeline device with the letters “HPDID”—Human Perceptual Digital Interface Device—on the side. He picked up the laptop and started up LifeShare. A tan image with the LifeShare logo—several smiling male and female faces with closed eyes and Lifelines in their ears—popped up. When the program was open and waiting, he went into settings and clicked the Privacy tab. Sure enough, under Physical Host Connections, Vocal and Basic were switched to “Private Mode.” Unlike the old man, he knew how to get the job done quietly. He put the device in his ear and with HOT_FUCKING_BLONDE.lif highlighted, he slammed the Enter key and waited for the pleasure to begin.

Monday, January 5, 2015


Huge Empire of Blood News

Rising From Ashes: Empire of Blood Book III to be serialized in video, audio, and ebook on Patreon!

Some of you have been waiting a long time to read Rising From Ashes, and now you won't have to wait much longer. I've started a Patreon page and will be serializing the book over there pre-publication. I'll also be doing all kinds of other stuff there like video how-tos on writing and editing, multimedia stories, and much more. Check out the Youtube video embedded below or just follow THIS LINK to go directly to my new Patreon page.

I'm going into uncharted territory with this next book and I hope you'll come with me on this strange and exciting journey! Thank you all so much for reading, reviewing, and emailing me to tell me how much you've enjoyed my work. Your support means the world to me!

Sincerely and most appreciatively yours,

Robert S. Wilson