Archive for Shelter – the novel

I Never Killed Anyone

I wrote this in story form a few days ago for Kellie Elmore’s Free Write Friday, and knew then it would have to be converted to poem form for dVerse Poets Pub’s Open Link Night #131. Enjoy! Read the rest of this entry »

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I Never Killed Anyone

Saw Kellie Elmore’s Free Write Friday prompt first thing this morning, and the words she offered, train – burlap – fiction – pearls – vertigo, for use as inspiration for or in a story or poem, came immediately to life in my sometimes overly-active imagination. I wrote:

I Never Killed Anyone

My head resting on a burlap sack of feed, cheeks crisp from the cold seeping through unseen cracks in the gently rocking boxcar, I slept fitfully–like a man on a ledge–spinning in and out of dreams. Thankfully, my coat—dirty and worn—kept my body somewhat warm, while my faded jeans did no more than keep my legs from freezing. Expensive walking shoes—full of holes and slick as owl snot on the bottom—did nothing but magnify the cold. My feet felt like blocks of ice.

My vertigo dreams were soundless, but for the clacking of wheels and creaking boxcars, and in my waking moments I wondered if the movies in my mind were fiction or true crime. Probably some of both.

I’d written novels… a lifetime ago. One was full of drugs, sex, killing and rock and roll, and the other was about two homeless men who went on a crime spree one winter in Austin, Texas. They thought a warm jail cell would be better than the frigid concrete bed they slept on. It was cold as hell in Austin that winter. I know… I was there.

A black and white scene flashed across the screen of my dreams. The woman’s eyes were bulging, and her mouth was open in a silent scream as rough, calloused hands choked her life away. The string of pearls around her neck broke as she died, and as they floated to the floor of the parking garage, the scream came, shrill and long.

The squeal of the train’s brakes spun me back to semi-awake, and as I lay there shivering, I remembered my wife saying to me, after reading that scene, “Honey, they say writers write about what they know about.” She paused then added, “This scares me.” My whispered answer came with a no-extra-charge smile. “I never killed anyone, dear.”

Copyright © 2014 C Mashburn

If you’d like to read my novels–I really did write two of them about 14 years ago–you can purchase them on Amazon. The Devil’s Dust and Shelter. (I’ve actually written over a dozen crime novels, but only published the two.)

The Devil’s Dust devils dust jacket

The soul of man seethes wicked

Cold sweat reeks of evil lust

Blood runs hot and thin

When spiked with the devil’s dust

Copyright © 2013 C Mashburn

 

ALSO! Be sure and check out Kellie’s great books of poetry. She is, without doubt, one of the most talented poets of our time! Magic in the Backyard

 

 

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Shelter

In 2001, I wrote and self-published a harrowing crime novel called ShelterThis novel is not for everyone, as it is graphically violent and holds nothing back. The following is a slightly re-written version of what appears on the back cover of the book. If you like to read fast-paced crime novels, and don’t mind a resultant nightmare or two, get yourself a copy of this book! Read the rest of this entry »

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On The Road Again!

We are loaded up and will momentarily be leaving for Borger, Texas, birthplace of yours truly (that’d be me), and the site of our seventh book signing event. The event will be at the Hastings in Borger tomorrow–Saturday, 5/21–from  2-4 pm. If you have friends and relatives in the area, please hit the FaceBook Share icon at the bottom of this post. OR, call ’em up and tell ’em about it! Read the rest of this entry »

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My novel – “Shelter”

In 2001, I wrote and published a harrowing crime novel called ShelterThis novel is not for everyone, as it is graphically violent and holds nothing back. The following is from the back cover of the book:

Two men, worn boot heels clicking on time-smoothed asphalt, pass beneath a dimly glowing streetlight. In the eyes of one there shines the very slightest glimmer of hope, yet he is filled with anger. Read the rest of this entry »

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