A Short Synopsis of "The Harrowing of Scooter Emerson"

As I approach the hard beginnings of my new novel, The Harrowing of Scooter Emerson I am beset with apprehension. This will be unlike any book I have ever written. It is a scary scenario to say the least. The reason I am having so much trouble even beginning it is because of its capability of wrenching my heart aside and drop kicking it into the pain and anguish of self criticism. Why in the world would I say something as unorthodox as that is probably running through the thoughts of anyone reading this. I will attempt to explain.

The Harrowing of Scooter Emerson is about a man about to die. He isn't just going to die; Scooter will be executed by the state for his dreadful crimes against it. Scooter was a serial killer; rather Scooter is a serial killer, because he dreams of being free to continue with his chosen profession. As the minutes tick toward midnight on his last day on earth there come, for him, a miracle, for the citizens of the state is a catastrophic happening. Scooter's lawyers have, just minutes before execution made his a free man. Free, not just a reprieve, he will be set free because of the prosecutors' tampering with, and concealing evidence.

Scooter is ready. He has sat on death row for ten years dreaming of this day. He has plans to go on a killing spree this nation has never seen before. As he lay in the hotel room one of his lawyer has rented for him he things of her in the next room, for the lawyer is a woman, and a beautiful one. Just what he needs to kick off the plague he intends to impose on an unsuspecting nation. As he walks into her room, sent there by blood-lust, there comes a conversation with his intended victim that confuses Scooter and makes him pause just long enough for the lawyer, her name is Ellen Haak, to confound him to the point that it is she who takes over as the dominant one in that room, it is she who will take Scooter and guide him through a hell he has never realized was possible and still go on living. Ellen goads him, softly encourages him and outright dominates him fro time to time as she not so gently guides him to where she wants him; face to face with his own immortal soul.

After The Beginning

whispered words send wordless,

insensitive revulsions throughout me

I sense a slight pressure inside my chest

lift a hand to touch, rather than look

listen with every ounce of intensity I can muster

I hear nothing

not even my feather-light breathing

or the breathing of others

it's dark here

one flickering candle

as though the wind makes it so

but there is no wind inside these four walls

only my breathing

which is so shallow

if I were to close my eyes

you might think me quite dead

I am not dead

not really

though I'm of the opinion

I've been dead and resurrected to this place

to fight forces unknown to mortal man

who knows for how long

days? weeks? maybe years?

It is the witching hour

I burn the candle in its unholy honor

I've discovered they prefer

candle softness

to what has resulted from that lightning rod

me too

I sleep during the day

arise to give the night its due

why was I chosen for this experiment

this diabolical, twisted experiment

driving me into madness

it has succeeded

I am mad

I surrender to its madness.

I burn the candle to write this down

maybe someone will read and understand

my mortal combat with immortal things

I've climbed the treacherous Mountain of Betrayal

holding on, trying not to slip

into the Faint Moans of Anguish ravine

though bloodied, more dead than alive

I held on to Shattered Hope

it would save me

but no

I was deceived by Wickedness

it laughed at my folly

I stomped on Broken Hearts

but there were more than I could possibly . . .

I've clawed and ripped

with my teeth

I've fought with bloody results

Drowning Libidos and Fearful Egos

accompanied with sorrow that I have come to this

dreadful hags harassed me

when I found moments, blessed quiet moment

diabolical howls from Hades' Hounds

prodded me onward

forever onward

toward the next struggle

Love Destroyed, a formidable foe

rescued by the Child of Innocence

then

Minds Unstable finally, completely destroyed me

oh, I know

I am not destroyed

I know I have other trials to face

I don't know if I am up to it

I am a beaten man

what justice is there

keeping this nightmare alive

©March 16, 2010 / Jerry Pat Bolton

FINALLY! Ram Slade, Shamus is Published

 

 

This is the cover of my new book, Ram Slade, Shamus. The story is set in the year 1944 and centers around Ram's secretary, Luv (short for Loretta Ula Vargas), who quit working for him after five years, her faked suicide and eventual disappearance. As Ram begins his investigation into the strange happenings he becomes deeper and deeper involved in the case where nothing seems to be what it really was and no one is who then are supposed to be.

He teams up with Layne Fuentes, a reluctant homicide detective in pursuit for the apparent captive Luv. Everything that makes a hard-boiled detective story workable is in Ram Slade, Shamus including beautiful women, gun molls and, as Ram calls them, street weasels and hoods of all kind. Each layer of evidence he uncovers in his quest to find his ex-secretary only leads to more mystery and confusion. Bea, a new secretary causes to the turmoil within Ram's thoughts, plus Mandy, a gangster's wife who ask him to hide her from her husband. In desperation he turns to an influential ex-client of his who owes him a favor to find Luv.

A page turner is Ram Slade, Shamus . . . Ram Slade, Shamus 

Talk Radio

What can you say? Plenty, actually, if you are a political junkie, which I am not, although I keep up with the situation in Washington and around the world as best I can. I am not learned in the intricacies of political skulduggery, although I am better now that I used to be. Thanks in large part to the cablevision talking head shows. But the real masters of reliable information as far as I am concerned is talk radio. And when you say talk radio you are saying Rush Limbaugh. There are others, yes, and there are other good talk show hosts, Glen is one, Shawn another, are a couple who are good and can articulate what I want to hear, and there are others as well. But they are not Rush, Here is a man who has not wavered in his beliefs for the twenty plus years he has been on the radio. I have been listening to him almost as long as he has been on.

The conservative radio commentators have been ridiculed, misquoted, out and out lied about and have had awful things said about them, but they keep on gaining ground in the hearts and minds of the average guys and gals across America. The reason? They speak our language. They say on the air what we have been whispering about for years. Now we have a leader. We have many leaders, but Rush is in a class all by himself. He very seldom makes a mistake on air because his research team vets everything. Every so often something slips by and if it does Rush is there immediately to tell his listeners he made a boo-boo.

Rush has a lot of detractors. They say he is a clown. They say he is merely showbiz. They say he is irresponsible. They take his words and change them around to make it look and sound like he has said something wrong. The only thing is, for anyone who has listened to the man for any length of time with an open mind, knows that they lie about him. He has transcripts of everything he says and proves over and over again how the powers that be are trying to silence him. Unlike the left-leaning talk shows, of which there are a few, actually say anything and expect people to believe them.

I know without a doubt that America is in deep, deep trouble. We have a man in the White House who seems to want to destroy our monetary system, put as many people as possible on the dole, expecting the federal government to take care of them from "cradle to grave." It has been a long time in coming, and it began with Franklin D. Roosevelt, but since then the democrats and a few republicans have steadily enhanced the poverty level and with stupid rules which allow whole families to survive on welfare for many decades without once asking them to find work to try and support themselves. Why? Power. The more people with their hands out toward the federal government the more indebted they are and therefore will vote for whoever says they will give them the most.

Something has to happen to change this dependency on the federal government.

My Doppelganger and I

I ponder the rain as I sit here, trying to get my mind in gear,

As I ponder I hear the drip, drop, of the rain on the rooftop,

The skies so gray you cannot tell, when day is gone and night has fell,

I await the stroke of midnight, when my doppelganger comes in sight,

The hours leading up to twelve, gives me time for my mind to dwell,

I wait for him to show me the rhyme, as I have done so many times,

Like a drunkard waits for his wine, I drink his words like they were mine,

Come, come, you ghostly midnight hour, I care not if you bring showers.

This is the price I have to pay, for finishing my book today,

I have used up all of my words, and sit here like some doofus nerd,

I should sit back on my laurels, not worry about words to borrow,

Within my mind whispers speak out, you must write that's what you're about,

The whispers disturb my solitude, besides that they're so very rude,

But yes, oh yes, I need to write, writing is my life, it's my plight,

In search of that one special tome, inside of my mind's catacombs,

To spend a day and not compose, is like a blind man without clothes.

So here I am awaiting fate, for at midnight I have a date,

My scattered alphabet to repair, reach up, pluck good words from the air,

Unscramble my confetti brain, oh please, oh please, don't be my bane,

Doppelganger bring word bouquets, accept my gratitude I pray,

Last time I said that was the last, I'd ask not again your words to pass,

It's different now, I'm truly stumped, just one more time give me a jump,

I am not like the poet Poe, I just can't get my words to flow,

The clock chimed twelve the time is here, what to do if you don't appear?

©February 12, 2010 / Jerry Pat Bolton

Life's Sonnet #2

The fall season is sad to me,
No joy found in the cooling breeze,
Leaves fall to ground give me no glee.
I think of love's many degrees.

A young love that blooms in the spring,
Grows and thrives in summertime sun,
Everything perfect for queen and king,
But autumn find love almost done.

All that's left is winter's cold chill,
To shatter love's bough to the quick.
Leaving lovers to pay the bill,
And dismantle love brick by brick.

Spring awaits the fair maiden's thoughts,
Will love return or will it naught.
 

©September 26, 2009 / Jerry Pat Bolton

Life's Sonnet #1

Life's Sonnet #1


My heart tells me no, look back to the past,
I calm my heart with tenderness and care,
And say there is a future unsurpassed,
If we but reach for it, it will be there.

My foresight and reality are one,
I cannot divide them in two, you see;
They help me as I look toward the sun,
Foresight, reality and me are three.

This inner struggle has cost us a lot,
The pursuit of the beyond scares us both,
Still, it's not too late a dream to be sought,
A paltry weed needs the sun for its growth.

We wake up and look for the morning light,
From it we ascend to infinite heights.

©September 25, 2009 / Jerry Pat Bolton