All About Urkhammer

Trace Preview - Bad Reviews

Historical Fiction

Urkhammer History

Two years ago, I came across the intriguing story of Urkhammer, Iowa. In a Lost Colony of Roanoke vibe, it was a ghost town where all of the people mysteriously disappeared. I filed it away as an idea for a possible short story or novella, where someone in our modern day discovers a box of letters from people in that ghost town. The letters would slowly unravel the mystery of Urkhammer.

Imagine my surprise when I came back to the story over a year later and decided to write it and my research revealed that the Legend of Urkhammer was nothing but an internet hoax that went viral. There was nothing about Urkhammer before 2015. Someone with a website made the whole thing up. The Legend continues to live on via obscure websites and YouTube channels like this one:

I had a decision to make. Do I abandon the story or rethink it. After a little thought, I chose to write the hoax into the story. Kristen James, our heroine, will have to decide along with you, the readers, whether or not to believe what she reads or what she sees in front of her. A box of real, historically accurate letters or everything else she can find out about it. I hope you’ll dive in with her and her friend Brenda when the story comes out in the fall.

Urkhammer Podcast

I’ve been experimenting with research tools and one of the most fascinating is NotebookLM, by Google. Like most authors, I’m against generative AI, but I’ve enjoyed the benefits of it for research and organizing my writing. NotebookLM only uses what you give it. I use it to keep track of characters and events in the novels, but it has another feature. It can create a podcast based on the material you’ve given it. This short one on Urkhammer came out very intriguing.

Thriller

A Bad Review - Know Your Readers :(

After It’s Over, my first novel, is a post-apocalyptic survival thriller that presents several controversial ideas through the narrative. It is by far the most divisive book I’ve written and the reviews on GoodReads show that. That’s okay, but it also makes it risky when you’re trying to find new readers. With the Audiobook release, I was looking for people to give an honest review and I’m afraid I may have cast my net too far. Here’s what happens when you put your book in front of someone who never should have read it:

Two stars - “This isn't something I would typically read, a dystopian world set in a pandemic world I lived in, I didn't need to be reminded of that time. The idea of this book proposed an alternative to the pandemic and what would happen if society collapsed and we turned on each other.” Here’s what happens when you put your book in front of someone who is unlikely to enjoy it. I got what I asked for, an honest review from someone who would have never enjoyed it. “This very much felt like the author was retelling parts of the Walking Dead series, which others have also picked up on. Once I read this particular correlation, all I could picture was Abraham in place of Al.” Yes, there were a few ideas similar to the Walking Dead, but Al was definitely not a copy of Abraham. Finally, here is a great statement for anyone thinking the book they’ve written is for everyone, “A series I will not be continuing. I'm not usually harsh when I review books, but this was a complete waste of my time.”

I’ve been an author for long enough now to reel with the punches and keep on writing. If you like post-apocalyptic survival thrillers, you’ll like After It’s Over. If not, I might have something else you’d enjoy, but you probably don’t want to waste your time on this book. :) Check out After It’s Over and other new audiobooks by clicking the graphic below.

Audiobooks

Fantasy

Trace Chapter One

I’m currently writing, Trace, a prequel to the Force of Magic Trilogy. It will be available by the end of the summer for all of my Newsletter subscribers as a free gift. For now, here is chapter one in its entirety as a free taste. :)

Dominion

Trace's perch in the tree was making his back stiff. He'd been positioned up in what he thought of as a cozy place to wait and watch for hours, nearly twice as long as he'd hoped to be there. Still, this game trail had never disappointed him yet. The watering hole at the end of it would have been a better place to wait, but there was no cover.

He gently placed his bow on the branch next to him and stretched his arms up high overhead to loosen up and that's when he saw the horns poking out of the leaves above the trail moving in his direction. Instantly, Trace was ready, the bow in hand with an arrow nocked and in place.

Just a little closer…

The deer's head had just come fully into view when it froze in place, its eyes and ears coming to attention as it looked away to the right. Trace didn't dare move. He carefully aimed the point of the arrow, centering on the neck of the deer. Just as he released the string, a distant sound echoed through the forest and the deer bolted, causing his arrow to disappear into the trees. In a flash, his target was gone, as though it had never been there.

Trace cocked his head, listening carefully for the sound that'd sent the deer running. It had seemed familiar, but his focus was elsewhere the first time it came and he needed more than his memory to be sure.

When it came again, there was no doubt. It was the ancient horn, mounted at the center of the town, a relic of another age when it was used to call all the farmers into the square in case of an attack. In Trace's memory, he'd only heard it at the annual Festival of First Fruits that signified the beginning of the harvest season. That was months away. Part of the reason Trace was spending so many cool winter days hunting in the forest.

Probably just some kids.

Blowing the horn was strictly forbidden, but that didn't mean it couldn't happen. Still, he'd been gone long enough and Trace wanted to make sure his mother was well if the horn signified any trouble. It took him close to a half hour to wind his way back through the forest and when he finally emerged from the trees, Trace knew something was wrong. The horn sounded three more times on his journey back, and it sang out again as he looked down at his village.

His home and his mother were on the outskirts of the other side, closer to the slope that led out of their valley. There were no signs of life in the plains below between the forest and the town, so Trace broke into a run, picking up speed as he hurried down the hill. He'd just cut around old man Hambley's farm when he saw the first banner. The blood red flags of the Dominion were known and feared everywhere.

But what are they doing here now?

At the start of every summer, a conscription officer was sent to enlist all the boys who'd turned 16 in the previous year into the Dominion's service. Other than that, they never heard from their rulers. Their village was far from the ever-expanding frontline of the Dominion's reign, and everyone around here liked it that way. Trace had avoided being enlisted for the last nine years. He was old enough now that most people he met assumed he'd completed his mandatory service. The villagers knew different, but they all seemed to understand Trace's reason for what he was doing.

Coming around the last building of the neighbor's farm, the empty branches of the tree on the edge of their property came into view. It now towered over fifty feet tall. Trace's last memory of his father was planting that tree together, just before his father fell ill. He considered it a symbol of his father's memory, living on, casting a shadow over their farm.

"Mom! I'm back."

There was no smoke coming from the chimney, and after checking the garden, Trace entered the main room of their cabin. It was dark, with no signs of life. He knelt by the fireplace and saw blackened wood, surrounded by a thick sludge of ash, and the stones in front of it were still wet. Someone dumped water on it to extinguish the fire. A thing his mother would have never done.

Trace stood and took three quick steps towards the other door that led out towards the town, but then hesitated. His eyes were drawn to the old rusty sword of his father's, hung on the wall. It was from his own days in the army of the Dominion. He carefully lifted it from the hooks it hung on and opened the door.

"Trace Holden."

In front of him were four common Dominion soldiers and an officer, the shiny black implements on the man's shoulders showing his superior rank. It was the officer who spoke. Trace glared at him, but didn't answer.

"You are Trace Holden, are you not?"

He considered bolting back through the house, but then he saw that two of the men had crossbows trained on him.

"Trace lives here with his mother. Have you seen her?" He carefully phrased the words to neither lie nor confirm his identity.

"We have the woman and she'll remain our guest until such time as Trace Holden surrenders himself to our possession."

"And then what happens to her?"

"Nothing. She'll be free to live her life. She's done nothing wrong." The officer emphasized the "she's," to indicate this wasn't true of everyone.

After another quick glance to the side, Trace resigned himself that the only way he could make sure his mom was well was to do what the man said. "I'm Trace. Can I see her?"

"Of course, but first I need you to drop that sword. The Dominion will provide you with a new one and a uniform as a part of your training."

Trace lifted the sword, examining the blade as he ran his off-hand along the edge. It was dull and worn, not much of a weapon anymore. He took a step back towards the house to return it to its place. A bolt flew by his head, missing him by less than a foot, embedding in the door.

"Don't go back in the house!"

Trace froze and carefully reached out to lean the sword against the door, moving slowly with both hands out away from his body. He walked back towards the men and two of them moved up to grab his arms. He towered over them, at least six inches taller than even the tallest one. Trace had always been bigger and stronger than most people since he grew into adulthood. He knew he could shrug the men off in an instant if he needed to, but he went along with them, as they marched in formation back towards the town square, where the horn was just calling out again.

Fantasy Found Family

I love to write found family stories, including the Force of Magic. This month I’ve partnered with other fantasy writers who write this trope. If that’s your jam, take a look.

FREE BOOKS!

That’s right, more free books from Indie Authors. :)