Special Smashwords Promotion - How Build a Killer

 How To Build A Killer 

 Special promotion through  smashwords.

Coupon code = JU77L - free until June 8, 2012. Go download your copy now!  Available for all e-readers.

How To Build A Killer

Fiction » Adventure » General

By Vicki Williams
Rating: Not yet rated.
Published: Jan. 22, 2013
Words: 73,732 (approximate)
Language: English
ISBN: 9781301269839

Short description

Matilda Tryon assessed her new patient. She would definitely describe Ethan Pierce as beautiful, with pale blonde hair and exotic eyes that mutated between green and gold. Furthermore, Ethan’s languid grace made even a red prison jumpsuit (red being the color worn by the most dangerous inmates) appear to have been designed by Ralph Lauren just for him. But beyond beautiful, Ethan was also deadly

Extended description

Matilda Tryon (Tilly, to her friends) assessed her new patient. Yes, she would definitely describe Ethan Pierce as beautiful....drop-dead gorgeous, in fact. Collar-length hair of palest blonde framed a face seemingly carved of ivory....compelling cat’s eyes that mutated between the clear light green of a fine Pinot Grigio to a hint of champagne gold, a distracting quality Tilly had to force herself to ignore. High cheekbones, an aristocratic nose, sculptured lips. A strong chin saved him, barely, from the touch of effeminacy his refined features would normally have given him. Add to all that, a fleeting white smile and well, Tilly assumed if Michelangelo was sitting across from Ethan Pierce right now, he’d have a hard-on.
Furthermore, Ethan’s languid grace made even a red prison jumpsuit (red being the color worn by the most dangerous inmates) appear to have been custom-tailored personally for him by Ralph Lauren. He was relaxed, leaned back in his chair. His lean body put Til.. (Read more)

Tags

murder, serial killer, psychological thriller, child prostitution, graphic description

Elaine Raco Chase - Author's Corner - Triangle Variety Radio - Boons for Writers and Readers

I had a great time being interviewed by Elaine Raco Chase for Author's Corner on Triangle Variety Radio last night about my latest book How To Build A Killer - (which, incidentally, is being offered through Smashwords on a special promotion until June 8, 2013 so download your free copy now!) Elaine is a terrific hostess who makes you feel like you're having a conversation with an old friend rather than being interviewed by a stranger. She definitely knows how to bring out the best in her authors!

Elaine is an accomplished radio personality who has been working in this medium for many years but she is a wonderful writer as well. Check out her page at Elaine Raco Chase.


See all her books there. Here's a sample.

Whether you are a writer yourself or simply a reader, I highly recommend that you get to know Elaine.

A Brief Hiatus Into Spring

 

Last year at this time, it was 80 degrees in Indiana. Today, the first day of spring, it is 22 degrees with a bitter wind blowing. What makes it worse is that I just returned from visiting John and Lisa in the Florida Keys so there is still a faint trace of warmth and sunshine and blooming flowers hovering in my mind, making it even more of a shock when I step foot outside the door.

This was an especially exhausting trip because of Mom. I think it will be our last long journey together. Because of her, we pared our activities down to a minimum. We did go to the Hard Rock Casino once, where I actually walked out a small winner. And we ate out at least once every day so I stuffed myself with fresh grouper and yellowtail, shrimp po-boys and blackened mahi-mahi. And, of course, no meal in the Keys is complete without a piece of Key Lime pie.

But, mostly, other than visiting with the kids, I sat out on their balcony and gazed at the scene before me. The sun was warm and bright, the water was the purest turquoise and the flowers were beautifully purple and crimson and gold. Pelicans dove and sea gulls swirled and cried. The palm trees rustled in the breeze. I saw a lime-green baby Iguana and graceful sailboats skimming the waves. I went out early to see dawn break and again in the evening, where I was treated to an incredible sunset over the Gulf every night.

I was excited to see a Frigate bird, a bird that I saw first on an earlier trip to the Keys and one that fascinates me. They look like giant flying Batman logos in the sky. Their wing span can be seven feet but they have stubby little legs. They can not land on the water, can barely walk and can't take off from a flat surface, so most of their lives are spent in the air. They can fly for as long as a week without landing.

Frigate birds are also called Pirate birds because they will harass other seabirds until they force them to regurgitate their food which they then steal and eat themselves.

Florida was a nice break. The kids watched out for Mom so I could slip away from my responsibilities for a few days in favor of sea and sand and flowers and birds and warmth.

Then it was back to Indiana, where it seemed that the temperatures plunged when we hit the state line. The calendar says its the first day of spring but Mother Nature laughs at our expectations. It will be spring when she says so and not until.

Caution to Young Writers

I have no clue how many columns I have written over the years but it's in the thousands. I wrote two columns a week for King Features Syndicate for over ten years. I wrote two columns a week for my local paper for over 20 years. (I still write one newspaper column a week). In addition, I have written many freelance essays for publications like McCalls, Sports Illustrated, Newsweek and USA Today. 

I have never lived an organized life. I was married and divorced, I moved a lot, I changed jobs, I raised a child, I became a widow. I was happy and unhappy, semi-prosperous and poor, confident and dejected at being rejected.

Through it all, I pitched all those columns in a box....if I remembered.  Not cut out neatly, not arranged chronologically, not all facing the same direction. In that carton, are also letters from fans, notifications of awards (like having a column chosen to be included in a college textbook), reviews (favorable and unfavorable). In a way, that box mirrors my life - everything simply dumped in haphazardly.

The other day, I pulled the box out of the closet, looking for three columns in particular. The newspaper cut-outs are yellowed and curling around the edges, some of them are bent or torn.

I never found the columns I was looking for. Maybe life was stressful when I wrote them so I never took the time to cut them out and save them. At the time, I guess, they didn't seem so important in the scheme of things.

But, in all the millions of words I've written, those 3,000 are some of which I'm the proudest. I had received a call from a local family who'd found a box of old letters in the attic. They were letters home from two sons (step-sons, actually) who were fighting in the Civil War. The current day members had no awareness of the boys' existence until they read the letters. They'd both died during the war.

They allowed me to keep the letters for a while (they asked me not to make copies and I honored that request) in order to write a series of three columns. I remember the awe I felt as I actually held a letter written by a boy telling his mother about sitting beside a campfire in Tennessee, wondering what the following day would bring.  It was cold and rations were short but he told her not to worry, he was doing fine.

I fell madly in love with those two boys. They were such sweet and optimistic and loving kids. They began each letter with "My Dearest Mother". I marveled at how educated they appeared to be for only having attended local small-town Indiana schools. Their cursive handwriting was beautiful with swirling capital letters, especially considering the rough conditions under which they were writing. Every word was spelled correctly, one of them had taken Greek. They often spoke of happy memories of Somerset and Roann - fishing and sledding and attending church functions with their friends.

Through the letters, they mentioned some place names. One was the Niconza Church which is beyond the Stockdale Mill in Miami County. I visited the church and the pastor allowed me to read their old church records. I found that the boys were buried there. Over time, they'd disappeared from the family memory, from anyone's memory.

Later, the Historical Society located their gravesites and erected a monument to them.

All these years later, I don't even remember their names but I felt that I played a part in resurrecting them back into existence and they were so worthy of being acknowledged again. It is one of my proudest accomplishments as a writer. Oh, if only I could find those columns. I would love to read them again.

So, here's my caution to young writers - sometimes it is easy to let the Now go when every day life gets hectic but although it may not seem that important at the time, later you'll wish you'd appreciated it more. Everything you write is part of you and your history. Guard it for how precious it will become.

How To Build a Killer - Five-Star Review!

Ethan Gets a Five-Star Review!

 

5.0 out of 5 stars Society's Role In Creating Murderers From Throwaway Children, February 12, 2013

By 

jt kalnay (cleveland, ohio) - See all my reviews

Amazon Verified Purchase(What's this?)

This review is from: How To Build A Killer (Kindle Edition)

The life of Tommy Pitt, aka Ethan Pierce, started in a dumpster where he'd been discarded by his 15 year old mother, who had been impregnated through incest. The next 21 years were spent in and out of foster care, in and out of detention, & in and out of all the corners of hell that a throwaway can experience. Like his eyes, which can shift from gold to green, Tommy, "like all helpless things, abused children, and battered wives and mistreated pets, learned early on to read and react quickly to the slightest nuances in the moods and expressions of his captors." After being convicted of murdering his father, Tommy spends months seducing his prison therapist and encouraging the reporter and attorney who have decided he needs to be helped.

How to Build A Killer is an extremely disturbing story that includes graphic descriptions of the horrible things that happen to the most vulnerable amongst us. This book is not for the faint of heart, or for anyone who doesn't want to have a light shone on a sordid corner of society. You'll want to believe that this is all fiction, but in the end you'll realize that the crystal clear mirror that Vicki Williams holds up to society reveals truths that few of us want to admit. Tommy describes how "humans want to believe there is a guiding force that controls everything and cares about them, but so far I haven't seen any proof that if there is a supreme being, he or she or it gives a damn." Tommy goes on to describe how "God tosses life out with a wildly profligate hand and if much of that life ends up as collateral damage, he appears perfectly comfortable with that."

At its heart, this book addresses the classic question of Nature vs. nurture. Would Tommy/Ethan have turned out differently if he'd been loved instead of tossed in a dumpster? A psychiatrist in the story wonders "how much of who Tom became was innate and how much was causation? Did society share a large part of the blame for literally creating a killer by failing so spectacularly to protect a child?" One possible conclusion is that "an uncaring and negligently society deliberately molded him and shaped him into what he was and then punished him for being their own creation."

I recommend this book, but warn the reader that it contains graphic sex, graphic violence, and disturbing imagery of child abuse.

Purchase your own copy at amazon or smashwords

My New Kindle Fire HD

My new Kindle Fire HD was delivered a few day's ago. Did I need a new Kindle? No, I did not. All I do on my Kindle is read books and my old, original Kindle still worked perfectly fine. Am I skilled at justifying the purchase of something I want but don't need? Yes, I am. In this case, I easily convinced myself of the convenience of taking a new Kindle Fire HD on vacation to Florida in March to visit my kids. In addition to reading my books, I could check my e-mail and pop in on Facebook. All this on one small device easily carried in my purse! I could leave the heavy old laptop at home.

I am technologically-challenged and could often be used as a real-life example of the Peter Principle, which is, I upgrade to the level of my incompetence. My Smartphone was smarter than I was. I never learned to take advantage of its many features. Once I retired, I paid off my contract and pitched it into the desk drawer, never to be charged again.

I forget to hit the "ok" button when my t.v. asks if I want to watch in HD. This irritates my son no end. "Why did you spend the extra money on an HD-capable television if you're not going to use it?" I'm embarrassed to admit I can't really tell much difference. I don't have any channels listed in my favorites and I've never recorded a series. I haven't watched a tenth of the channels I have access to. Finding something I might be interested in just doesn't seem worth the effort it takes. Give me NASCAR and the news and I'm good.

John talked me out of asking for an I-pod for my birthday. "Mom," he said, "just admit that technology has passed you by and stick with cds."

So, you can see why I was somewhat intimidated by the box on my dining room table that contained my new Kindle Fire HD. I put off opening it for several days, afraid that it would prove to be one more high-tech device that instilled a sense of hopeless inferiority.

 One reason I was willing to take a chance is because I've learned to have faith in Amazon.com. And sure enough, when I finally steeled my backbone and pulled my new device out of it's package, it greeted me by name and led me step-by-simple-step through the start-up process.

All my books were already installed and waiting for me. Setting up my e-mail took five minutes, following the Kindle's simple directions. It then instantly connected me to my Facebook and Twitter accounts.

If anyone young and tech-savvy is reading this, they are probably shaking their heads in disgust but I was pathetically grateful to Amazon.com for making the Kindle equally as accessible to Dummies as experts. I spent hours trying to program my phone. I learned to resent it then and that feeling never changed. We were always opponents rather than partners.

This is Amazon.com's modus operandi. They make everything as convenient as possible for all their customers, whether it is buying books or publishing books, reading reviews to help make purchasing decisions, receiving recommendations, helping with start up. They are the most user-friendly of companies.   

Where Do Characters Come From?

One of my good friends, J.T. Kalnay (also one of my favorite authors - check him out on Amazon!) and I were discussing how characters take over writers' heads. I know this must sound like a crazy concept to non-writers, but our characters aren't simply robotic products of our imaginations. They are their very own people, with minds of their own, who will resist their creator's attempts to force them to act in ways that are counter to their own views of themselves.

In my e-book, Magic Creek, one of the characters is married to an extremely abusive husband. I wanted the book to have a happy ending. One of the themes was meant to be how Tory found the courage to escape from her violent life. But...she didn't want to escape and no matter how I tried to make her, she simply dug in her heels and refused to go.

I tried to market my manuscript in the traditional way and found a publisher who told me how excited he would be to take it on....once the ending was changed, of course. It simply wasn't possible to approve of a victim of domestic battery who makes the choice to stay with her abuser.

Any first-time novelist is aware of how exceedingly difficult it is to find a publisher. They know how it hurts to receive rejection letter after rejection letter. They understand how difficult it is to get your spirits back up to try again...and again...and again. And here, I had my chance. Oh, I wanted to sell my book in the worst way! Honestly, I would have compromised any principle I had to see my name on the cover of a hardback novel!

I would....but Tory wouldn't. I made numerous attempts to re-write the ending to Magic Creek to satisfy the publisher. I argued and pleaded with my character. She was unyielding and I finally capitulated. "Sorry," I told my would-be publisher, regretfully,  "I can't do it your way."

I e-published the book so it could end the way Tory insisted that it end.


Even writers themselves wonder over the strange dynamic of characters who become real individuals, seemingly completely separate from you.  It reminds me of the old Buffalo Springfield lyric, "something's happening here, what it is ain't exactly clear." All I know is, it is what it is, even if the how and why ain't exactly clear.

To My Husband Who Died in 1989

Strange how love evolves, my dear.

In 1969, I thought you were handsome and charming and daring,

I loved your outlaw swagger, your devil-may care bearing.

You were a dancer, a romancer, a drinker, a thinker.

I was thrilled to hitch a ride with your wild side.

By 1979, your sad soldier’s stories were growing old

Your death-defying acts more driven than bold

You were unpredictable, undependable, unmendable, expendable.

The wild ride turned out to be a roller-coaster.

In 1989, a second war, with cancer. This time you lost – and died.

We’d been apart ‘til you asked me to take that trip by your side.

You made no apologies, asked for no guarantees, made no final pleas

You rode out as you rode in.

Love is like a rose, sharing flowers and thorns

In the beginning, you only see the beauty

In the end, you only feel the pain.

But wait and time brings all it ‘round again. 

In 2009 and beyond, you are photos in an album, memories in a heart

Time polishes recollections, shines them once more, wipes away hurt

Today I remember the dancer, the romancer, the drinker, the thinker.

I choose to remember the roses.

Love is like a rose, sharing flowers and thorns

In the beginning, you only see the beauty,

In the end, you only feel the pain.

But wait, and times brings it ‘round again.