Showing posts with label chapters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label chapters. Show all posts

05 May 2026

Another 5th of the 5th of the 5th!

Dear Fifthers,

It's been a while. A while since I last posted the 5th paragraph of the 5th page of the 5th chapter as a blog post. That was in 2019 - right before I had to bow out for the illness that months later was called Covid-19. You can find that old blog post here, and read the 5th of the 5th of the 5th of my books published up to that date.

When that situation developed in March 2020, when my university switched from in-person classes to online only classes, I was about to publish my next book, a crime thriller called EXCHANGE. Due to the crisis I delayed the launch by two months - only then deciding that people stuck at home might like to read a book.

Then, still stuck at home, I worked on two novels that remained unpublished pending revisions. First was YEAR OF THE TIGER* (the last book on the older 5-5-5 blog post), the THE MASTERS' RIDDLE - the most sci-fiy of all my books as it concerns a non-human protagonist: the captured alien being who fights against his captors and tries to return home.

Then comes the FLU SEASON series. At first it was to be a stand-alone novel of a Mom and her teen son escaping from a city in chaos in the sixth year of a pandemic. The one-off became a trilogy, then another trilogy was added, then a sequel - taking our family members across a couple hundred years.

And that will bring us up to date - as I prepare to launch my next novel, a mighty epic of medieval America, A TIME OF KINGS. You can read about it here. It is not your descendant's medieval drama.


The 5th paragraph of the 5th page of the 5th chapter!

EXCHANGE (2020)

“Have a seat,” he offered, and Bill sat, pulling a worried mask over his face. These were the chairs where people got a talking-to. Angry parents, surly students, the odd Board member or two. The Griff was good at that kind of talking. “Bill,” the principal began, “I’m surprised to see you back so quick. You really need to take time off. Now, I’m no counselor but I think you could do with some counselling. You know? You’ve gone through a heckuva lot. The shock phase is just ending but there’s a long way to go to get you—”

THE MASTERS' RIDDLE (2021)

The Masters come as they choose, the shaman explained, and they take who they choose. She should not let cuts enter her heart or stones grow in her belly. Allowing that would make her as silent as those who had unexpectedly left the community of Aull, those who had vanished like the cool out-breath whenever a mind-cave collapsed. 




THE FLU SEASON SAGA


If the towers were still active we would likely only get official announcements and out-of-service messages. No room for idle chat on private apps. They had blocked ordinary citizens, non-essential phone users before. Calling in food deliveries was allowed, but people sent a list which was quicker. Otherwise, they would be happy to collect our chats to add to their databases, to sort us into good and bad. That was how they determined who’d spread the virus, sector by sector, then sent health police to detain the bad ones and reward the good ones. Mom said it was a racket.


“They sure can,” said Hannah and referenced a song by one of her favorite pandemic bands, Viral Dark: ‘Black Lab, under a viral sky / Breathe in deep, you’re gotta die / Cooking soup / Sneaky group / Spreading their poison all over the world’ – meaning the laboratory, not the dog.


My daddy taught me numbers as we cleared the area of marauder bodies. He taught me adding and subbing. We pulled one body over the slope to what he called the graveyard – where the wolves knew there would be food – so four bodies with one rolled over the ledge left three bodies, for example. He kept quizzing me and I kept giving him the right answers.



It had been Mother’s habit to go over to her parents’ grave at the edge of the clearing, kneel and talk to them each day. She made me kneel beside her, put my hands together for prayer. She told them about her latest child: “This is Fritz,” she told them, “named for our long ago ancestor on account of him being this kind of some new beginning for us, all us, like that ancestor did long time ago, him and that tuba.” She apologized to Grandma Hannah for getting together with Frank, my father, the same man who had a daughter with Hannah: my big sister Cherie, who I’d never met because she was so much older that she was already married and lived far away before I was born.


We stand on the production line, Eve across from me, as paper boxes move along in strict order. Other women, wearing aprons, stand to either side of us. Each of us places an item into the box as it moves past us. Eve’s job is to fold down the top of the box after I place the final item in: a cracker in a clear wrapper. But the lid has wings which always catch on the side walls and crumple the box. She was trained for an hour before put on the line but she gets admonished countless times by supervisors wielding slapsticks. I offer to trade tasks with her but our supervisors say they can’t allow it based on our papers. So we have to endure it.


“You know I went to the dentistry college in Kanza City,” I like to remind him. “No matter that I’m Sheriff Baumann’s grandson, I made top marks in the classes there. No matter that my mama was Kanza. I’m the best of both of them.”


THE WARRIORS BAUMANN
(call it Book 7 if you like) (December 2025)

He tramped along the trail. The vegetation closed on him, twigs brushing his arms and knees as he rode on. Perhaps this was the wrong trail. Wasn’t the one he and Rory had traveled going to the fort. He sensed he might be lost. Better to return the way he’d come, start again from the gate.


And, as a sneak peek, here is the fifth paragraph of the fifth page of the fifth chapter of the forthcoming A TIME OF KINGS - launching August 8, 2026.

And so the world lay as if carved into stone: the central Realm of Chicageaux, their capital New Cago, the Royal family and their kin, and allies spreading across a fair portion of the Americus, making a grand kingdom – a Realm! King Rodrick sat pleased upon his great throne in his great Hall within his great palace, growing bored upon his soft seat with the world at peace. And a steward would keep his goblet filled with beverages from across the Realm. Another of the staff would bring him reports of news from other lands. One night or another he would take his rest with the Queen.


There is another book that follows A TIME OF KINGS, with only a working title until I find the perfect name for it. And I do have the fifth chapter written already. Thus, I could include the fifth paragraph of the fifth page, but let's not rush into it. Let it go through the thorough review process and be sent to the launch pad before we subject it to blog posts.


*YEAR OF THE TIGER, although launching in 2020, was listed on the 2019 "5 of 5 of 5" post because those books were listed in chronological order of when they were written. Year of the Tiger, a dramatic story of hunters competing to kill a man-eater, has a sordid history of revision and submission and more revision and more submission before finally being perfected for 2020. 


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(C) Copyright 2010-2026 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

07 June 2015

What'll we do about Father's Day?

So I'm sitting comfortably at my computer, writing my new work-in-progress, passing the 10,000 word mark, and it hits me! I should be promoting my just launched novel, the one titled AIKO. It's a kind of Father's Day story, after all. Father's Day is quickly approaching and everyone else is doing a grad and dad marketing blitz. (Or they should!)

Well, everyone knows that grads are tired of reading. Dads tend to be reading averse, too. So maybe books do not make the best gifts. Job search books for grads, perhaps. A book on dad's current hobby, maybe. But fiction too often falls to the dark, dusty shelf of well-intended gifts. Next to the neckties. 

(Sure, AIKO is a novel about a man discovering he is a father and the many obstacles he must overcome to really make it true, but that would be my pitchman talking. Ignore him.)


So how many books are there about Father's Day, anyway? Or about fathers in general? Mothers are easy. Brothers and sisters are common. The sweet aunt and the generous uncle are often seen in literature. In my vast reading, Fathers are generally the bad guys, villainous, cruel, authoritarian, mean, and uncaring. Sometimes they are only the bad memory a protagonist has and we get a couple of incidents to showcase dad's unpleasantness. It's almost a stereotype. Fathers get a bad rap, I think; we only hear about the bad ones. (Think of Darth Vader, a.k.a. "Dark Father", and others of his ilk.)

If you've been following this blog you probably know I'm a dad. It's a weird feeling knowing there is someone living in the world partly as a result of my actions. Sure, we can imagine clones, or cyborgs, but another human? That's crazy. Like us and yet not like us. And eventually they go their own ways and have their own lives and we scratch our heads and think What just happened?

As I think back on the eighteen years, I can pinpoint a few things I did that may have helped raise this baby to adulthood. But there are just as many other things I did that I have no clue about. Maybe they helped, maybe they hurt. Only my grown child can tell. If it is even possible to figure that out conclusively. But I'm pleased, even proud, of how this googly little bundle of joy became this awesome adult who vaguely resembles me in appearance and words and behavior. 

Someday I should write a book about the child who calls me Father. Or, perhaps that child has already started a book. Well, that would be appropriate, I suppose--metaphorically speaking. For are we not all books of a sort, writing our chapters year after year, taking the good with the bad, putting a spin on it to keep the gods reading on, turning each page? We write until we run out of pages. And we seldom get to type those final words THE END. The end just happens.

So for now, I must pass the reigns over to my protégé. No longer do I need to concern myself so much with me doing great things and achieving this and that and tell my child about, you know, the things I can boast about. Now it is time for me to boast about my grown child, to note what this new adult is doing, and praise the new things, the new deeds, of this adult--to praise and be proud of what my child has done more than be happy at what I have done. 

Parental retirement dawns. I can stop writing each chapter and just sit back and read what someone else has written, seeing what this child of mine will write in the years to come.





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(C) Copyright 2010-2015 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.