The other day this little site o' mine hit 20,000 visits and I didn't notice. I noticed the first 10K, but not the other 10K. And this is my 100th post.
Since my last entry almost everything has changed. I have a new job. I have a new home. I have to get up silly early and therefore go to bed stupid early. I need a change from the old ways and adapt to the new.
1) Go for a run at after work at 5PM. The "sitting around" fat is being killed by being more active at work, but growing when I get home after a bit o' the boozin. Cut it out.
2) Write at least twice a week. If not more. I get into fits of creativity when I'm free and feeling the mood, but it's not nearly enough. The book is two-thirds completed. Stop being a jackass and do it already.
3) Have some fuckin' fun already. Living to work is no life at all. Enjoy yourself here and there if it just means geeking out over video games that were just rediscovered or visiting new places.
Sorry about talking to myself there. But someone's gotta do it.
Here's hoping for more entries. Or less entries and more actual writing and productivity.
JamesSickels.com
Thursday, July 23, 2015
Sunday, November 9, 2014
Real-World Fiction

Not the case in The Harbinger. Is there a bus stop there or not, Jim? Is there or isn't there!? Ugh.
Not to say that I don't like having bits and pieces of reality flow through what I'm doing, but when it becomes a hindrance it's a bit annoying. What if I want a bus stop there? I mean I guess I could. I've twisted the interiors of all the buildings I've incorporated into the books, so why not random locations?
Because no. That's why.
Saturday, November 1, 2014
Google Play Store! Activate!
Funny story:
The Play Store wasn't exactly a "thing" back in 2011. E-readers were all the rage. Amongst us bookish nerds. Point is that Book One The Seventh Horn has just been uploaded into Google Books and the Google Play Store which is most readily available on Android devices.
Direct link here.
All purchasing options are found here.
Have a good one and leave a star or two and a comment, yeah? I don't ask much for a dollar.
PS - I'm sorry it's ugly. They're all quirky about their formatting. I'll fix it. Sometime. I got a book to write.
PS - I'm sorry it's ugly. They're all quirky about their formatting. I'll fix it. Sometime. I got a book to write.
Wednesday, October 29, 2014
Tuesday, October 28, 2014
Christian Vampires? Sacrilegious!
Something about me starting back up again made me go back through the archives of old files.
First and foremost, I want to apologize for how little effort I put in to making the suggested edits from my conglomeration of editors. I got frustrated and antsy and just wanted the damn thing done. I know now that you gotta try to put out something of value if you want others to see it that way. I'm doing much better with Book Two by far and I'm not embarrassed to talk about this output which is a good sign. I'm still embarrassed to talk about The Seventh Horn honestly. I think a lot has to do with I have no way of describing it properly to a potential reader.
That's where I need you to come in.

So, here goes: Yes. The book using biblical references throughout it's story insomuch that I go about having characters (namely a holy man - surprise!) quote actual Scripture. I know, you're probably giving me the finger or throwing the evil eye horns at me or something. Truth is, the bible is fiction that I spent about a decade of my childhood studying and memorizing. Don't misconstrue the book as either a Christian pamphlet or me trying to tear up someone's religion, at one extreme or the other. It's simply an established history I chose to bend to my own machinations.
This reviewer demanded I move the genre of the The Seventh Horn from fiction/sci-fi to religious fiction. That'd be like, I dunno, putting Marilyn Manson's The Long Hard Road Out of Hell in religion because it contained the word Hell in the title. That's extreme, but you get me.
Some would also classify it as a "vampire novel." While, sure, it features vampires quite prolifically, I don't see it necessarily as that either. I've been infatuated with vamps since Anne Rice and Stephen King way too early in life.
SPOILER? It's dystopian, awful love story, with vampires, set in the Apocalypse of real-world Philadelphia, and a hilariously selfish and misogynistic main character with super powers. He's a terrible human being, but I hope you laugh at how much you hate him. END MAYBE SPOILER.
Give it a try for a buck. Or go all out and get a paperback one. If you're in NJ/PA area, we can probably work out getting you a copy direct. Outside the tri-state? Try the Purchase link at the top of the page. It's not the revenue I'm looking for though. I want opinions and reviews. Tell me about it. Post reviews that aren't biased by revulsion of religion. Send me your thoughts directly. Hell, post a comment here if that's all you wanna do.
And I say thank ya, sai.
Sunday, October 26, 2014
Why Hello There
I've missed you too. Whatcha been up to? That's cool. Me? Work, video games - I won't lie - then more work. I know. Shut up.
A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess as well as Stephen King's The Eyes of the Dragon and The Gunslinger were either read or reread in pretty rapid succession over the last month. With the completion, I want to claim that the spell of procrastination has been broken. The spell of writer's block is one thing, but Procrastination is a nasty, soul-eating bitch.
From Clockwork I gleaned how interesting it can be to have a history and background woven into a scenario with the main character's honest point of view being none-the-wiser. Additionally I learned how effective a human mind can translate new vocabulary and how to (poorly) use it throughout slang and dialect. Let's face it, there's no way someone in real life would say the words FACE, HANDS, and EYES with such frequency.


At any rate, I plan to update regularly throughout the next month as I try to attack in full force.
Thursday, January 23, 2014
The Shining and Doctor Sleep
I finished The Shining today on my day off. You might say to yourself, "My word! The man never saw the movie of The Shining at the very least?" To that I would say, "Why yes I have, Random Reader. But if you think they are one and the same then you are really missing out."
Some time ago when Doctor Sleep was released, I ran out to get it and started tearing through it. About half way through I started feeling guilty about never having read the book. I heard that Mr. King originally hated the adaptation due to the creative changes and the casting of Jack Nicholson, but never really thought much of it.
The movie adaptation, while a good movie in its own right, doesn't do much justice to the original concept of the novel. Far be it from me to fault Mr. Kubrick's film for that though. The book has very little action to it, being a psychological thriller, and therefore wouldn't adapt well in its original form. For example:
1) There are no creepy twin girls who haunt the Overlook.
2) "All work and no play..." or any semblance of that line does not appear.
3) Danny Torrance/Tony does not talk through his finger (although very infrequently speaks in Tony's voice).
4) Jack's famous "Heeeere's Johnny!" never occurs.
5) Nor does he wield an ax.
The most memorable imagery from the movie is almost completely absent from the book (including the ending). You might think that this would make the book dull by comparison, but it doesn't. At least not for me. I felt that the film actually spoiled the book by making me expect an outcome that wasn't going to happen. Plus I read the book hearing Jack Nicholson and Shelley Duvall's voices the entire time. Those actors aren't even blonde, for chrissake!
Anyway, time to wrap up Doctor Sleep which takes an extreme left turn departure from the nature of The Shining. It follows the son, Danny, as an adult as he exorcises his drinking demons and uses his 'shine' beyond the realm of the Overlook Hotel.
Sunday, November 10, 2013
Make a Liar
Life has been rough lately. When you loosen the bonds around your feet, you tighten the ones around your hands. I can sleep now, but the sleep isn't as restful. Now I can breathe, but the air is tainted. I don't know if I'll ever be as complacent and at peace as I was when I wrote the first book.
How do working parents manage to find the time to have hobbies when I, a single and childless male, can't bring myself to write a simple sentence per day? "I'm too tired. I've got better things to do. Work was too annoying." Maybe they have more motivation. Or maybe I just come up with more excuses.
I originally started this website to motivate myself and make myself into a bit of a joke, but all it's done lately is make a liar out of me. I've been away for too long and feel like I've lost whatever edge I might have had. However there are a few plans in motion for pushing myself back into the fray.
I've ordered samples of posters to be used for marketing purposes in the future. I've reprinted a working copy of The Harbinger to familiarize myself with the roots of the story and burn it into my mind. I've re-read The Seventh Horn to help organize thoughts and bring in story ties new and old. I've begun reading Stephen King's Doctor Sleep to grow that budding horror yet humorous wordsmith I've buried in the dirt.
In about a week's time I'll be spending a few days in Buffalo as I assist in the opening and merchandising of a new store. As much as I had originally hoped it to be more entertaining, it looks I will be able to spend the daylight hours working as a faux-interior designer and my evenings locked in a hotel room as a faux-writer. The last time I went into such forced seclusion I birthed a book. Here's hoping a similar environment and unfamiliar setting will stir some creativity and force me into being productive outside the workplace.
Friday, September 13, 2013
Skin
Skin
Taut and fragile
Covered by bandage
Hides wound beneath
Thorn pressed deep
Penetrates the flesh
Rips the cover
Droplets flow
Soaks skin and cloth
Yet I push it
Deeper
Sunday, September 1, 2013
A Tale From Me To You
The
trees whipped by at an unforgiving pace. Two men sat in the
train’s cab facing one another. Sam reclined as he peered at the
flying landscape, boot-tapping a rhythm to match the incessant
click-clack of the rails below. As usual, Clyde seemed to simply be
memorizing the lines and scars of his hands.
“Hoo
boy, I can’t wait til we get there. How bout you, Clyde?” He
gave his traveling partner’s knee a slap. “I betcha can’t wait
neither.”
Sam
gave time for the response that he knew wasn’t coming. Clyde
pulled his bowler hat a bit further down to cover his eyes. Sam
pursed his lips in response. “Shame things had to turn out this
way and all. But you know you’re getting what’s comin to you for
good reason, dontcha?” Clyde wore his silence as fine as the
blackened leather belts strapped around his waist. “Ah well,
you’re gonna hang first thing for sure. I know it. I can’t
wait, though. Can’t wait!
Gonna be sweet.”
Clyde
intertwined his fingers and looked up at Sam then shifted his view
out the nearby window in disinterest as the train started to leave
the forest behind in favor of a lake view. They couldn’t be more
than a hundred miles from the Red Rivers station now. Red Rivers
Chapel is where the law liked to do the public executions of
well-known criminals such as himself.
For
the usual thieves or occasional murderers, any old noose tossed over
any old tree branch would do, but not for Clyde King. He was going
to get the special honor of a proper hanging. He thought perhaps he
was supposed to feel honored by the gesture. They’d at least have
the decency to put him in the ground in a box this way. Better than
knowing your body was going to end up as a fine treat for some forest
critters.
“Cannot
wait, Clyde. Can’t wait.”
*
* *
Clyde
was the leader of a gang who ran their business and sordid affairs
out of High Ground. They weren’t known by a name or any such
nonsense - that type of vanity was left to the amateurs. Their
dealings ranged from extortions and kidnappings to the good
old-fashioned bank robberies. It was true that innocents were found
with a few extra holes in them from time to time, but they were
simply unfortunate enough to be in the wrong places at the very worst
times.
Only
once did Clyde King seem to be caught where he shouldn’t have
necessarily been. An attractive young lady had fought long and hard
at the saloon to catch Clyde’s eye. She wailed the story of a
husband who didn’t do right by her and beat her mercilessly, that
is, whenever he managed to find a reason to come home. It didn’t
do much for Clyde’s pity, but he wasn’t one to turn down the
invitation from a beauty in such dire need of attention.
The
outlaw found out in a most unfortunate way that the tart he went home
with that evening was the young Mrs. Branford – Sam’s wife.
Sam’s untimely return home caught all three of them off guard. The
lawman had Clyde get dressed and cuff himself behind his back as he
held him at gunpoint. Once Clyde was dressed, Sam marched him out of
the house and as he did, Sam turned and put a bullet in wife’s
pretty little forehead for humiliating him by being so damned
unfaithful. He left the outlaw’s pistol behind as proof of the
deed.
*
* *
Clyde
affixed his gaze at the officer who sat opposite him aboard the train
bound for his execution. He shook his head in disgust at the
thought. Sure, he had put down a few in his time as well, but only
out of necessity for his own survival. And never a woman.
“What?”
Sam asked as if he didn’t know what the accusatory glare was for.
He resumed his boot-tapping staccato symphony upon being ignored once
again.
The
outlaw averted his eyes from his captor and began to take note of the
other occupants in the car with them. At the far end on the other
side of the aisle sat a sheraph reading from his book. There was a
likely chance this man was meant to end up being Clyde’s
executioner once they arrived at the Cathedral. The priests and holy
men like the sheraph were the official law bringers in these dusty
plains; men like Sam Branford were little more than local bounty
hunters and mercenaries for hire.
A
few rows closer sat a man and his daughter. He appeared to be
teaching her about the world that was passing them by on the rails.
She would ask him questions and he would answer. She would point at
some miniscule object on the horizon and look up to him for approval
and he would return her inquiry with a smile and nod. The continued
happiness of these two passengers somehow made him regret the choice
he had been forced to make a few hours prior.
*
* *
After
Clyde’s capture and Mrs. Branford’s execution, Sam decided to
take his prisoner to Red Rivers himself rather than alert local
authorities. Upon seeing the outlaw’s face, many townsfolk greeted
Sam with praise and adoration for taking down such a delinquent of
their budding society. He claimed to them that he was making the
delivery himself because he wanted, nay, needed to see justice done.
However, the decision was more likely to be based on the hopes of
claiming a reward for some type of bounty on the outlaw’s head.
The
railroad ran a few miles just south of town and so the duo was forced
to walk the distance to the nearby station. Sam didn’t have the
good fortune to have the money for horses or other travel expenses
besides the train. Luckily, their destination lay at the end of a
dirt path made by the travels of many others’ journeys. Years ago,
a ranch had popped up along the route and as Clyde and Sam progressed
they heard gunshots emanating from a building on the premises. The
lawman insisted on investigating the situation, being the upstanding
citizen that he was.
Upon
their arrival, the two men found not a trace of the attackers, only
what had been left behind. A family had been pulled from their home,
robbed, and then shot. Either the assailants were inept or entirely
cruel, but they had shot them all in the bellies rather than a quick
death granted from a shot to the head. There was always the slight
chance the marauders meant to entirely forego killing their victims,
but they managed only to prolong what was now inevitable. The head
of the household was coddling the bloodied, lifeless remains of his
wife and child all the while grimacing in his twofold agony.
Try
as he might with his somewhat good intentions, Sam could not seem to
convince the man to allow his assistance. The father wailed and
cursed the heavens as his whole world lay in the blood around him.
He insisted he didn’t need any help and that his life was over.
Clyde knew as well as he did that he’d never make it with a wound
like his, even with their assistance.
Sam
wasn’t one to take no as answer and forced the man to his feet,
allowing the heads of the deceased to fall to the bloodied grass with
a wet thud. The man fought with the lawman to be left to die as he
should. As Sam forced the man to his feet once more, Clyde slipped
the restraints under his feet so his hands were free to do as they
needed. Upon pilfering Sam’s sidearm, he managed to grant the
father of the household his final wish as well as shoot his own bonds
loose before the officer was able to react. An intense moment
followed with both men having a pistol each and both aiming to kill
with a single shot. Clyde shrugged and tossed the pistol at Sam’s
feet and mounted a saddled horse nearby. He continued along the path
to the Pinedale station with Sam trailing behind.
*
* *
The
outlaw realized that he didn't regret the decision that he had
made, but rather the situation as it had occurred. He admired the
connection the man on the train had with his daughter. From what he
had experienced, it seemed much more difficult to make a new life
than to destroy one. Destruction was easy - all it took was a twitch
of the finger.
Two
men entered at the opposite end of the cab from where Clyde had
perched himself when the train left Pinedale. One remained behind
and gazed out the window beside the sheraph. The other continued
forward and stopped next to the outlaw and lawman.
“Afternoon,
gents. We ready?” A pistol was drawn in one hand and a hefty
looking satchel was slung over his back.
Clyde
addressed the man with a nod and stood. The sheraph had been
relieved of his weapons as Sam was in the process of surrendering his
own pistol and keys as well. The three of them gathered together at
the rear exit and confirmed that they had already procured the church
fund and both bank deposits that had been intended to be transferred
to the capital. Clyde’s men ran down the itinerary as he removed
the broken handcuffs from his wrists.
Sam
spoke not a word while the three men exited the cab and proceeded to
uncouple the final car at the rear of the train. With a tip of his
bowler hat, Clyde released the caboose and the passengers watched as
the car slowed and shrank into the distance.
*
* *
The
blow to Sam Branford’s ego was enormous as he quickly became known
as ‘The Man Who Lost Clyde King’ rather than the man who brought
him to justice as he had intended. In the following weeks he began
drinking heavily and gambling profusely. With little effort, his
debts surmounted the small fortune that he might have acquired had he
completed the prisoner transfer of a notorious criminal. He was
unable to find employment due to his disreputable job history and the
bounties he pursued all managed to elude him. The men he was
indebted to were quickly become aggressive.
After
much begging and pleading on Sam’s part, a friend of an
acquaintance granted him a job working as security personnel for his
bank. After two days of standing next to a doorway, it quickly
dawned on him that the pay was insufficient to ever be able to cover
the cost of his loans.
One
dark evening after closing, Sam took it upon himself to do away with
the banker and steal the money in order to save his own skin. While
his employer was transferring money to the safe, Sam followed him in
and shot him in the stomach after knocking him to the floor. A
bullet to the head made sure the job was done - a lesson learned.
He
piled as much as could fit into both leather deposit satchels and
left the vault in a hurry. He closed and locked the enormous door
behind him in hopes of it slowing the process of others finding out
what had happened, thereby slowing their pursuit of the culprit. As
he pivoted on his heel to leave the scene of the crime, he was halted
by the sight of a man donned with a bowler hat standing just inside
the bank doorway. A smile of recognition cut across the intruder’s
face as a single shot was fired. The man strode forward, accepted
the bags as his own and exited the premises with a tip of his hat.
Clyde
King was pleased that no innocent men had to die by his hand that
day.
ABOUT CLYDE KING
Truth
be told, Clyde
King
was written with the intention of being a teaser into a new novel
that I plan on completing in the near future. The entire world,
timeline, and back story for characters and their plot is sitting and
waiting on the sidelines. Clyde King himself will most likely end up
playing a minor role in the book. I simply wanted to give this world
life and a new perspective from where I was coming from in the main
story arc.
I
have a strong desire to bend and play with the rules of morality and
social responsibilities with my stories. The anti-hero has become too
cliched recently though. What if there was no hero at all? Who would
win and who would lose? Is there a black or a white or is it possible
that everything is gray? What if someone had no hidden desires and
did exactly what he wanted, when he wanted, and was good at it? Would
you adore this man or fear him? By leaving Clyde with no spoken
dialogue, the reader is left to answer questions on their own.
This story was originally published as a bonus to the first edition of The Seventh Horn.
This story was originally published as a bonus to the first edition of The Seventh Horn.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)