The Innkeeper

Hello, everyone!

I am so happy to announce the publication of my newest book, a Christmas novel (though, you can enjoy it all year round) titled, The Innkeeper. The synopsis goes like this:

"'It is a plain and simple truth that one must endure the harshness of thorns in order to fully appreciate the beauty of a rose.'

"So begins the tale of Artemaeus Barsoul, a cantankerous and greedy old innkeeper whose life is dedicated to the collecting of coins and the ignorance of the needy around him.

"Then one night, the spirit of his long-dead sister appears to him and offers a chance at redemption available only through the visits of the spirits of the past, present, and future of a man known only to him as 'the Shepherd.'

"From the crowded streets of Bethlehem to the Sea of Galilee, and from the the Garden of Gethsemane to the hill at Calvary, Artemaeus follows in the footsteps of this wondrous Shepherd in this novel reminiscent of Charles Dickens' 'A Christmas Carol' and begs the reader to ask themselves whether or not they will Let Him In."

And here's a preview:

Preface

            This is a story from the heart, to the heart, and of the heart, with the overall message that people can change. Though this story applies to all of us, myself included, its principle character is an innkeeper and how, impossible as it may seem, his heart of stone is softened by a humble shepherd. But it is not impossible, is it? For we know that with God all things are possible. The miracle of the Atonement is what I write, but what you find within these pages is entirely up to you. And so I leave you this story in the hopes that it will bring you joy and hope not only in this season, but throughout the whole year.

-KDW

December 2016

“And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.”

Luke 2:7 (KJV Italics added)

Stave I

The Chill Wind and the Voice

                It is a plain and simple truth that one must endure the harshness of thorns in order to fully appreciate the beauty of a rose. And for Artemaeus Barsoul, life had been all thorns with no flowers to grow in the desolate wilderness of his heart.

            He was an innkeeper who owned an inn not far outside the city limits of Jerusalem. The road by which his inn resided was highly traveled; needless to say, Artemaeus was never in want of people seeking respite for a night before continuing on to the great city, generally leaving a few coins in his possession.

            His face was long and gaunt and looked as though it had been painfully chiseled out of cold hard stone. His thin lips seemed to be pulled into an eternal scowl under his full gray beard. He was tall and, though he never wanted for food, incredibly lean in build. He rarely spoke on any subject other than financial business, but that mattered not seeing as there were very few who spoke to him at all. But perhaps the most striking feature about him were his eyes, which could chill even the warmest of spaces with their cold piercing stare.

            To anyone in the neighboring cities, the innkeeper was known as “The Chill Wind.” Whenever he entered the vast towns, a whisper would spread like wildfire throughout the throng of humans, “The Chill Wind cometh,” and the people would part for him, like a river flowing around a stone. Nobody had any desire to be caught walking in his way. There was no one who stopped him to say, “Dear Master Barsoul, how are you today?” or, “Artemaeus, my friend, it has been too long. Won’t you stay and talk?” Those who knew him or had heard of him avoided conversation with him at all costs for fear of losing their precious savings which they had worked so desperately to earn.

            Artemaeus didn’t care. To him, idle conversation was a waste of time that would be better spent maintaining his inn and reaping the profits. He stood in the main lobby of it, his cold hands clasped behind his back. His eyes examined the walls which had once been painted but were now faded and worn. So long as there was still some ghost of what had once been there it would be a waste of time and money to replenish it to its former glory. After all, nobody noticed the decoration when it was there, so what did it matter now that it was gone?

            A small built black-haired clerk was trying in vain to sweep the floor clean of dust. He was the innkeeper’s only employee and had served loyally for many years. He took whatever payment he was given for the week without complaint and rarely bothered Artemaeus with inconsequential conversations such as the state of their families. It had never done any good. He was a good worker but he was nowhere near the standard Artemaeus demanded. He was always just a tad too slow running errands, his cleaning was mediocre at best, and he occasionally used too much oil in the lamps. These flaws were the reason that Artemaeus had given him as to why he had never attained anything higher than the status of clerk and retained his meager salary these past many years. That and the fact that the innkeeper was not one to relinquish his hold on money so easily.

            But the clerk was not of any importance at the moment. Artemaeus’s main concern was the pathetic man kneeling at his feet, hands outstretched in earnest supplication, with tears streaming down his cheeks...

I hope that you will enjoy this story that is very close to my heart and let it remind you of the reason for the season.

Thank you!

The Great Toy War: Summer Camp

Hey, guys! I'm very happy to announce that my newest novel, "The Great Toy War: Summer Camp", is well on its way to being published. So, to celebrate this momentous occasion, I'm proud to reveal to you the cover of the book as well as give you a sneak preview from chapter 20: "Fort Why-I-Oughta"!
Enjoy!

And here is the preview:

Toys dressed in the clothing of the mid-to-late-1800s walked along Main Street. All around him were men dressed in chaps and boots who tipped their hats at each other as they passed. Meanwhile the women who were clad in long dresses and bonnets whispered to each other behind their hands as the Indian and human passed them by. Tommy was surprised by the fact that many of the toys did not have bases under their feet.

Tommy craned his neck in all directions, trying to take in everything at once. They passed a bright red corral which looked like a giant barn. The continual whinny of horses and the lowing of cattle could be heard emanating from the inside. WHY-I-OUGHTA LIVESTOCK Co. was painted in big brightly colored letters on a wooden sign over the entrance through which Tommy met eyes with a white horse standing in its stall. Even though they locked eyes only for a second, Tommy had the immediate feeling that he wanted to ride that horse.

There was another building that was set slightly behind the ones on either side of it with a large fenced-off area in front of it. It was as if the wooden fence were the structure’s arms and it was trying to pull itself forward so that it was in line with the others. A monotonous metallic pounding clearly rang from the fenced-off area, and as they passed Tommy saw an incredibly muscular man steadily slamming a hammer down upon a red-hot piece of plastic.

Tommy tapped Quick-Fox’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t the plastic melt if it got that hot?” he asked, casting glances at the blacksmith. He read the sign nailed to the fence. FORT WHY-I-OUGHTA PLASTICSMITH, it read.

“No,” Quick-Fox answered simply. “Plastic will melt if heated to certain point. But plasticsmith is expert in field. If warmed just right, plastic will be moldable without melting.”

Tommy’s eyes goggled at all there was to see around him. He looked excitedly at the W.I.O. ARMORY where men were walking out with rifles, muskets, pistols, and bandoliers of plastic bullets. He watched as a red-colored cowboy spun the cylinder of a Colt .45 Peacemaker which made a rapid click-click-click noise.

“Newest model,” he said boastfully as a couple of other cowboys gazed upon it with unabashed envy. “Can hit a buffalo straight through the eye at 250 inches.” He expertly spun the gun on his index finger.

“Because it needs to be the size of a buffalo for you to hit it anywhere, Slick; never mind the eye!” one of the men guffawed followed by a chorus of laughter at Slick’s expense who, if it was even possible, looked even more red than before.

Quick-Fox and Tommy trod past the OLDE FORT THEATER. An amazingly intricate hand-carved marquee that advertised a show called PLASTICK IN MOTIONE was suspended over the box-office and front doors.

“C’ain’t wait to see the new show at this here the-a-ter,” a mustached gentleman was saying to a pretty bonneted woman as they walked inside.

“Here’s first stop,” Quick-Fox said, snapping Tommy away from his wandering eyes.

Want to read more? Keep an eye out for "The Great Toy War: Summer Camp"! Coming soon!

10 Fun Facts About "The Great Toy War" That You Probably Didn't Know

It's pretty astonishing to hear all of the things that go into the writing of a book. It goes through changes and edits like you wouldn't believe. But in the end it becomes the finished product that you know and love today.

Here are ten interesting facts that you may not have known about my novel, "The Great Toy War."

1. During the planning process of the book I had considered writing the story in the first-person from the point of view of Tommy. There is even a word document on my computer with a section written in that style (though, I'm saving it because the story of it will be used in the third installment of the series.)

2. Victor, a green toy soldier in the novel, is actually based on a real-life soldier of the same name. He lived a couple doors down from my family growing up and I actually do have a toy soldier at home with the name "Victor" written on its base in sharpie.

3. The photo on the cover of the novel was actually taken in my front yard using my toy soldiers. After spending a few days searching for an adequate picture, my mom said, "Why don't you take the camera and some of your guys and take the picture yourself." And thus the cover photo was born.

4. The book took one year to write followed by numerous (I lost count after 10) edits and read-throughs before it was published.

5. Though the novel was my first published book (unless you count my eight-year-old bestseller publish-your-own picture book thing), it was not my first book idea.

6. At 25 pages, "The Bathtub Battle" is the longest chapter in the book followed closely by the chapter, "The Battle for the Ball".

7. In the first couple of read-throughs the word "Lego" was omitted to ensure that we weren't breaking any copyright rules and replaced with such phrases as "multi-colored building blocks" and "interlocking bricks". After some discussion, the word "Lego" was put back in.
8. I hadn't decided to make the series a trilogy until after the first book was written and edited a couple of times. The series is called "The Rubber Ball Trilogy" (after the magic bouncy-ball that shrinks the main characters down to the size of toys and controls the tide of the war.)
9. The entire trilogy takes place in the same year. Book one (The Great Toy War) takes place in the spring, book two (The Great Toy War: Summer Camp) takes place in the summer, and the third and final book (title TBA) will take place in the fall and winter.
10. Ashley (the brothers' little sister) was originally not going to be a major character in the story until one day I decided it would be fun to have a fun-sized villain who happens to be a cute little girl.

Well there you go! Ten facts about my book, "The Great Toy War". Haven't read it yet? Buy your copy now from Amazon.com or BarnesandNoble.com and find out what you're missing. Read it already? Post a review on one of those websites and let the world know what you think! If you post a review, let me know and your name will be entered in a drawing to win a copy of my sequel "The Great Toy War: Summer Camp", set to come out later this summer.
Thanks for reading!

Short Story: Game On

This was a short story that I had written a year or so back for a writing contest judged by the best-selling author of "The Maze Runner", James Dashner. The theme of the story was "Game On" and this was the product of it. This story actually won the contest and the prize was a copy of his novel "The Eye of Minds". Enjoy!

Fox stood across from his opponent. He heard his virtual reality gloves clicking as he clenched and unclenched his fists. His goggles brought up information on the opponent.

Age: 17. Male. Hair: Black (w/ white streak) Usrnme: Destroyer. Specl Mve: Fireball. Weak Point: Slow Moving.

Fox smiled. He was lithe and agile while Destroyer was bulky and slow, beating the guy would be a piece of cake.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” the announcer said, “On this side, from Team Glitch, is Destroyer!”

Destroyer raised his muscular arms to the cheering of hundreds of thousands of fans. A holographic projection of him appeared on the floating platforms high up in the coliseum-type arena.

“And over here, we have a newcomer from a new team, the Hackers. Ladies and Gentlemen, I introduce to you Fox!”

The cheering was less raucous this time. Fox wasn’t exactly sure how to react, so he meagerly waved, which Destroyer seemed to find hilarious.

“Gentlemen,” the announcer said, “Prepare to fight!”

The holograms on the platform became the number 3 and started counting down. The entire stadium counted along with it.

“3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . .”

Fox gulped. Let the game begin.

He barely had time to react before a blazing fireball flew past him. He rolled out of the way just in time. He saw Destroyer roll another one in his gloves, this one about the size of a baseball. Fox brought his fist down on the ground and, though the floor was made of a thick glass, great walls of rock launched upward and deflected the flaming ball.

As the rocks lowered, two more fireballs were launched at Fox, which he deflected with sheets of water that seemed to materialize out of nowhere and disappeared in a hiss of steam when the flames touched them.

It seemed that Destroyer wasn’t one for variety when it came to his attacks. Fox deflected yet another fireball, but he didn’t expect a second to follow right behind it. It hit him in the shoulder. His vest vibrated and he felt a dull stinging in his shoulder. His goggles glowed red as his health bar dropped 22%.

Fox looked up from his shoulder. There was a cracking sound coming from Destroyer’s arm. Steadily, gray rock climbed its way up his arm and over his torso. He was making armor for himself. The rock cracked at his joints to let him move. Fox grimaced, there was only one way he could have done that. Dang cheat codes. They were supposed to be illegal in an arena battle but they made exceptions every now and then.

Fox threw a stone the size of a baseball, but Destroyer caught it in his rock-covered hand and crushed it to a powder. Fox formed a white ball in his hand and underhand tossed it to the ground. As soon as it touched the floor it burst like a water balloon, but instead of water spreading across the ground, it was ice. It spread to Destroyer’s feet and he slipped, landing flat on his back. Fox threw another one and Destroyer’s rock-covered arm was frozen to the ground.

Fox formed a spear made of ice and spun it a couple of times. He half jogged, half slid right across the ice and raised his spear to bring it down.

All of a sudden, Destroyer shot up a burst of flame and melted the spear in Fox’s hand. There was the sound of cracking ice, and Fox felt himself being launched backwards, landing on his back with Destroyer kneeling over him. Fox felt himself being pinned down by Destroyer’s knee.

Fox had to think quickly. He grabbed Destroyer’s rock-covered arm. Almost immediately, water flowed from Fox’s glove, drifting over the rock and into the cracked joints. Quickly, Fox froze the water and within seconds there was the sound of cracking rock as the ice in the cracks expanded. Destroyer looked surprised and let his guard down. Fox took the opportunity to throw the opponent off of him.

Destroyer stood up and took a few steps back from Fox. The rocks had nearly completely fallen off of his arm, but his torso was still covered. He started rubbing his hands together quickly. Sparks began to form between his palms and very soon a small ball of fire began to form. But the ball didn’t stay small for long. Within seconds, it went from the size of a golf ball to a tennis ball, and after that it was the size of a basketball.

A jolt shook Fox’s stomach. Destroyer cocked his arm back to throw the fireball at Fox. With a wicked grin, Destroyer launched the ball. It flew through the air with deadly speed.

Fox’s mind raced with possible escapes, but as the fireball raced toward him, he threw his arms up and a large sheet of water exploded into the air. The ball hit the wall of water with an explosion of steam, clouding the entire arena in mist so thick that Fox couldn’t see five feet ahead of him.

He knew that it was time for his special move. The steam was exactly what he needed to pull it off. He wiggled his fingers and sparks began to arc between them. He felt the electricity surge through him and when he felt like it was about to explode, he released all of it through his fingers. Fox knew that water was a conductor of electricity, and the water in the air picked up the lightning easily. There was a sharp electric zap and in the distance, Fox could hear the groaning of Destroyer.

The vents in the arena sucked the steam out of the arena and Fox saw Destroyer on the ground in a heap. Stunned silence filled the stadium before the words rang out, “Fox is the winner!”

The crowd erupted in thunderous applause. “Fox will be moving on to round two!”

Fox grinned. Game on.