What's next ?
Coming soon from Kevin Kramer
For those of you who have followed my path to becoming an author, you may have noticed I took some time away from writing after the release of Coalwater. Life changes occured, and frankly, the differences between writing and selling can be quite complicated. Selling became the most frustrating part of the process for me as there were limited resources available from the publisher to promote Coalwater, thus the national sales were limited to my scope of family and friends, and a few others.
In frustration, I took a break from writing. My third child was born, a beautiful daughter, 7 years after we thought we were done with our family. Diapers and baby-raising was re-introduced, and all other "hobbies" went on hold. My mother was diagnosed with Metastatic Melanoma in early 2007. I spent a great deal of time with her during her illness before we lost her in October. We talked many times about her life-long desire to write children's books and never having been puslished. We conceived of a great idea for a series about a little girl (modeled after my now 2-year old, Gracie) and her view of family members as superheroes. I Think My Grammr Is A Superhero, in honor of my mother, Gayle M. Jackson, will go to print soon and be available in bookstores by late November, 2008. I plan to include other titles in the series such as: I Think My ...( Papa, Nana, Pop-pop, daddy, mommy, brother, uncle, aunt, teacher, coach) Is A Superhero. More about the I Think series on the link in the menu bar to the left.
About my
mainstream fiction writing:
When I completed the first draft of Coalwater in November, 2002, I was thrilled I had a novel to share. I let a few people read it, but now laugh at how raw that version looks in retrospect. From that point, I began searching for an agent, looking for a publisher, and re-writing draft on top of draft. I did all of the editing myself—with extreme copyediting help from my mom, dad, brother, wife, and even some friends. Thanks to you all for your interest! They contributed a significant amount to my work.
Not unlike other authors, I've worked to no avail to get an agent to take on my project. Agents seem not to want to take a shot on an unknown author. The business is almost impossible to penetrate, but I'll keep trying. I employed a virtual assistant, Susan Sullivan— Link to Susan's site. — who was a tremendous help in managing the lauch of Coalwater in 2004. She handled publicity, signings, agent/publisher searches, and other book related activities. It all eventually fizzled out, and four years later, Coalwater remains available through on-line stores, but does not sell very often. I have much work to do to re-focus my efforts, polish my writing skill, and enter a mass market with a bang with my next title.
My next
mainstream fiction novel (due to be completed ??):
The concept for my next novel: The Path Divides is exceptional—much better than Coalwater. I plan to make The Path Divides a sequential. The second in the series will be entitled The Commune. I think the number two novel in print from an author is usually his best and most defining work. I hope this is true with The Path Divides. I will take my time to get it right. I won’t tell you much about the story. I will, however, give you a sample chapter to read. If you like what you read in Coalwater or this sample chapter of The Path Divides, be sure to pass the word; tell anyone who will listen that Kevin Kramer has potential. The more people who read and gain interest, the better chance I have of moving to the next level, dedicating more of my time to writing, which I love to do! I once heard John Grisham interviewed about his first novel—A Time to Kill—he stated: "It was very popular in my home town". Writing, I presume, will be the easy part. Getting noticed & selling—that's a different ballgame!
The Path Divides
One
The road was dark, lit vaguely by the quarter moon that softly wove through the top of the forest of hundred foot high trees lining the curvaceous roadway. It was a route they had driven dozens of times, one that spun the vehicle in every direction, in nearly one hundred and eighty-degree turns, one after another. The most experienced travelers had often been overcome with nausea navigating these mountain roads. But, this couple was engaged in each other, locked in discussion, as they hadn't had much of a chance to communicate back in the real world of work and family for the past few years.
Dr. Mike Munson, head of pediatric surgery for one of the largest and most renowned children's hospitals in the country, UCSF Medical Center Children’s Hospital, was hardly ever off duty. He and his family of four—complete with the token canine named Buster—vacationed at their mountain cabin on the Northern California Coast for four days, twice a year—over Easter and Thanksgiving holidays. This was his only family retreat from his relentless and unforgiving hospital schedule. And, it was the only eight days per calendar year he was completely away—no phone calls, no consults, no call duty, no administration, no saving lives. Except for the occasional tick removal from Buster, who loved to blanket the land around the cabin, picking up invaders and eating foreign ground droppings, Dr. Munson was spending uninterrupted time with his family.
This trip was not unlike the others. The family ate three meals a day together, shopped the trendy Hollywoodish town of Mendocino, and secluded themselves on the desolate beach during the short and beautiful days. In the evenings, they huddled in the cabin by the wood burning stove, telling stories and playing board games until the darkness around them was lit only by the fire coupled with a few distant flutters of headlights moving up and down the two-lane Highway One in the distance. And, like every other trip they had taken, it was too good to be true, but too short to be appreciated.
Susan’s least favorite, but ironically her most cherished part of the trip on every occasion, was the travel home. They had always left as late in the evening as they could to ensure the kids would sleep the entire four-hour roadtrip. This occasion was no different. The children’s limbs were intertwined with Buster's in the back seat. They were covered in pillows and blankets, seemingly relaxed in their own little worlds of self-content.
On this semi-annual occasion, husband and wife talked about the preceding days—about the time they had spent together as a family. They dreamed of days in the future where their normal lives would more resemble the times they were alone, without distractions, at the cabin. They also knew this was not an immediate reality, so they consciously connected for these final hours as they drove on the almost uninhabited road to home.
It was 12:15 a.m, Monday morning. Thanksgiving traffic had already cleared the busy cities and getaway resort towns. Most of the country had settled back into their normal lives at home, in their beds, sleeping to prepare for the post-holiday work spoiler where they would feel a few pounds heavier and particularly unmotivated.
As Mike slowed the family's two-toned white and silver SUV to maneuver an extremely tight turn, the bright lights from shortly ahead on the straightaway blinded them, halting their conversation as he braked the vehicle to an almost complete stop. If it were another vehicle obstructing their passage, it wasn't moving. They concluded the lights were too bright to be a single passenger car or even a large truck. There were multiple sources of light; they were intense and overbearing.
The thick air and fog that settled in the winter months muffled the light enough for them to make out movement and shadows behind the source, but, they were unsure if it were people or simply the ebb and flow of branches in the wind. Maybe it was a road construction zone?
These roads had always been a little isolated and scary, but this was an intensely unusual situation. Susan usually appreciated the impenetrable darkness; it allowed her to converse with her husband without inhibition. The seclusion and absence of light allowed her to interact with him on a more intellectually equivalent level. During the other three hundred and sixty-three days, she was venting about her friends, complaining about her schedule and the kids, but not really connecting, and certainly not measuring up to a man who worked unconscionable hours under immense pressures. The darkness felt different now. It only contributed to the force of the lights ahead.
"What's going on up there, Michael?" Susan asked worriedly, shifting her position in the passenger seat to an upright and tense posture.
Mike surveyed the area around them, outside the vehicle, as he checked the children and Buster in the back. They were unaware of the sudden stoppage; they continued to sleep uninterrupted and soundly.
The Munson vehicle was twenty feet from the exit of the turn, facing slightly downhill, making an immediate reverse maneuver very difficult, if necessary. The lights were fifty feet ahead of them on one of the infrequently short and straight segments of road.
They were twenty miles from the nearest town in either direction, neither of them very populated or civilized. Mike knew from previous experiences that his cell phone was miles from a service area that would grant a bad connection at best. On the right side of the vehicle, the car was blocked by a hillside of mountainous rock only feet from the road's edge. On the left, across the oncoming lane, were the sinister forest of redwoods and an unfamiliar and unforgiving territory of predatory animals and darkness, he’d imagined. Mike inched the vehicle a few feet forward. There was no sign of retreat from the lights or their operator. They were at an impasse.
"I don't know, Susan. I guess you and the kids should stay put in the car. I'll get out and see what the hold-up is. There must be road construction going on. I’m sure it's nothing to worry about. You lock the doors behind me though, just in case…ok?"
"Are you sure, Michael? This doesn't feel right. Wouldn't a road crew person be out here in front directing traffic? There’s no one…no movement… just the lights. Let's just get out of here!"
"Susan, you're being paranoid. Besides, where are we going to go? We can't turn around or back up very far. I'll be right back." Mike pecked her on the mouth, a gesture that was customary in their daily exchanges. He told her he loved her as he shut the driver's side door quietly enough not to disturb the children or Buster.
She locked the doors as she had been told. She lost sight of him as he blended into the lights, shadows, and the daunting animate mist of fog at the outer edge of each.
As he approached the source, Mike heard footsteps and voices. He was able to recognize what looked like two oversized four-by-four trucks with their beds facing in his direction. The light was coming from six or so floods attached to each of the vehicles on roll bars at least fifteen feet from the ground. The last image he was able to register before he heard the startling boom was a man holding a rifle, pointed directly at him.
Mike was athletic and physically fit. He reacted just quickly enough as he dove to his left and landed in the ditch trimming the roadside. He’d avoided being struck by the bullet, not because of his movement, but because of the errant shot by the rifle handler.
The fear consuming him took control of his extremities. It was constricting tighter and tighter as he heard men’s voices yelling out and feet pelting quickly on the pavement in his direction. Move Michael… run! Get to the car and get out of here. Susan…! Start the engine; get away! Don’t think about me, save yourself and the children!
Not a peep escaped him. He was unable to choke a sound of warning to her through his hardened larynx. The fear and excessive adrenaline had taken over his functions. He was “out of body”. He could see the men moving slowly forward—Susan sitting motionless in the car, and him lying face down playing dead in the roadside half pipe of dirt and rock. This wasn’t really happening! All he could force himself to do was roll to his right and take cover under an ancient redwood trunk that had been hollowed out by burrowing animals over several decade
The noise of the gunshot terrified her. She couldn’t see Mike, but knew something was very wrong. The children began to stir as Buster rose to attention at the sound of the rifle, his hair standing erect on his back, haunches flexed ready to spring into action to defend his family. On pure impulse, Susan began to frantically climb across the armrest and fumble with the keys to get the vehicle started. She flashed her bright lights to see if Mike were in sight. He wasn’t; but what she was able to see was horrific. Three men were walking in the direction of the car, each of them carrying a weapon tucked under his arm.
Mike was nearly comatose under the log. He tried to reason with his emotions, getting little response. Then he heard one of the men shouting directions.
A scruffy voice with a southern accent pierced the otherwise quiet forest. “There’s someone else in the car. Take care of it, now! I’ll check to see about the first one. I think it was a clean hit. You’ve been officially initiated, my friend.”
Mike’s attention shifted from fear to thoughts of his family in danger. The desperation of saving them and him, the surge of preservation he was now having took precedence over the earlier response of freezing. You’re not a coward! You can’t leave your family to these maniacs for your own safety. There’s got to be a way out!
Mike was stricken with memories of case histories he’d studied in medical school of subjects being so overcome with fear they had abandoned all rational thinking and fended for themselves. Certain trauma cases he had handled during his residency flashed quickly in a montage. He could vividly remember fear frozen on the faces of car accident or gun shot fatalities brought in dead on arrival. It was not unlike a crowd of people witnessing, but not responding to the call of a victim being brutalized in public. But, this type of response would not be acceptable. He had to do what he could to save his family. Focus, Michael!
He crawled along the leaf and moss covered floor through the hollowed tunnel leading into the forest abyss. He rose under the protection of the nearby ten-foot diameter monstrosity of redwood and began to move between the trees away from the road. He determined he would be no good to his family if the men hunting them were able to see him, or God forbid, get a clean shot at him.
He traveled over a hundred yards into the forest and up the hill in the direction of their Jeep. As he looked back at the road, he realized he was getting so deep into the redwoods that the lights had faded and the sounds of the men were distant. He wasn’t thinking clearly, or was he? He’d be no good to them dead. He had to take this path knowing he had no chance of beating them outright to the vehicle.
Mike headed back in the direction of Susan and the kids, hoping she would be smart enough to start the car and back up through the turn, or accelerate through the men if they got too close. He hoped he could move just beyond the sharp turn, exit the ditch onto the road, and connect with Susan and the kids in the car backing up the hill to avoid any contact with the men.
~~~
Susan got the vehicle started. The two men that now pursued the vehicle were twenty yards away. They were walking at a steady pace. She was able to see them clearly enough to notice they had nothing but cruel and determined intentions.
She fumbled with the manual gearshift while pumping the clutch. She jammed the transmission into reverse and looked over her shoulder into a dark black sea of road lined by mountain and trees. The turn was sharp, and the hill was steep. She was petrified.
Evan, aged five, and McKenzie, aged seven had awakened to the loud and intermittent barking of Buster, and the throttling of the engine. The kids had no idea what was happening, but they wanted their Daddy. They were now all in a panic.
As she popped the clutch and hit the gas, the vehicle responded quickly to the forceful call to action. The acceleration was too sudden for Susan. The rear end of the vehicle swerved erratically and came to an immediate stop lodged in a roadside embankment.
The two men continued to walk in her direction. Now, they were only ten yards from the crash site.
Susan couldn’t restart the Jeep. The engine had gone dead and the driver’s side air bag had deployed on impact, pinning her to the seat. She and her children were helpless.
The loud revving of the Jeep engine and the screech of its impact with the rock had echoed through the trees Mike wove through for cover. He was two hundred yards from them, he thought, and at least that distance above the turn. He couldn’t see the road yet or Susan and the kids in the Jeep. Time had stopped for him. He no longer had complete recognition or control of the movements his body made to avoid branches and stumps of once proud trees cut for their product, the remenants left to decay in the abundant underbrush.
Mike was exhausted from the uphill run. Tree limbs and bushes had tethered across his arms, legs, and face, leaving scrapes and trails of blood. He paused for a brief gasping of air to collect what he could of his thoughts.
I've written nearly 10 chapters already. I hope this piqued some interest in seeing more. I'll work on The Path Divides, planning for a fall, 2004 release.
Kevin
