Ron Houston's Blog

The crack that creaked was not the dawn; but the floor the old man walked upon. For it was noon when he awoke, styling his warmth with a dingy coat. Lanky and bent an old man was he, with gnarled yellow teeth amounting to three. With clothes always stained he always complained in a mood disregarding affection. He liked it that way for “Who?” he would say, “is worthy of my attention?”

 Swaying in compliance with the wind, his shack was to rot, as he was to decay, movement to strong either here or there would bring to this lumber its meaningful grave. By the stove he poured his noon coffee then glanced at the calendar nearby. “October,” he said, “is nearly over.” He sipped and then snorted, “Oh my! Have I been deceived? Am I to believe that tomorrow is All Hallows Eve?” With a slap on his knee the shack quivered. He laughed and his home rocked and swayed. He jumped and the floorboards did rattled. “By gum, that’s my favorite day!”

 “When the brats come a callin’ and beggin’ for sacks of goodies to eat, I’ll give their poor hearts a great panic, with a most horrid sight as their treat. In the window I’ll sit a great pumpkin, all whittled, carved, and trimmed. I’ll fashion a grotesque jack-o-lantern, and give it a sinister grin. I’ll put it right here on this table, with a candle inside of it lit. When children come lookin’ inside here, the vision will render them sick.”

 With no time to waste he ran to the place that he once referred to as a patch. But alas there’s no pumpkins just rotted old stumps and over-grown thistles and thatch. “Egad, am I crazy? Am I really that lazy that I missed the whole plantin’ season? If I can’t take delight in causing tots fright, it would prove to myself to be treason.”

 He sat on his back porch and pouted. A tear slowly crept down his chin. Then he looked over yonder and saw it, and gave way to a sinister grin. In a spot out some two hundred paces on the widow O’Grady’s land, sat a pumpkin so large and radiant, from that distance still looked very grand. “I know that it’s wrong, I can feel it. What I’m thinkin’ I know is a sin. But I know in my heart I will steal it, and I’ll wait until dusk to begin.”

 The widow O’Grady was a kind old lady with dog Bowser she lived ‘cross the lane. She’s sweet, quiet, and proper, and Bowser, very well trained. Her house was sound and perfect. Her side of the lane was so bright. In contrast, the shack over yonder, always gloomy and dark as night.

 “It’s dark now, and time to get to it.” The thief made his way to her patch. A pumpkin that grand is extremely well rooted, “No bother,” as he lifted his axe.

 The widow O’Grady was knitting, in an old rocking chair she sat. Old Bowser lay curled by the fire, the spot where he usually napped.

 Up and down the axe came about he wasted no time in attacking. Heaves and moans, and creaky old bones made more noise than the actual hacking.

 Bowser took notice of something. He got up, whimpered and cried. “What’s the matter boy, do you hear something?” He howled so she looked outside. “Who’s out there?” She yelled. Bowser barked up a storm. Like a statue the old man stood still. “Get off of my land or I’ll shoot! With a shotgun I’m incredibly skilled!” The widow aimed high at the target. “Get off of my land or you’re dead!” The fired shot hit the axe handle, by inches just missing his head.

 The old thief took flight, disappeared in the night. He made it back home empty handed. “That pumpkin’s just right, I will have it tonight. I’ll just carefully go back and grab it.”

 “Come, come now Bowser, it’s over. Go back by the fire and sleep. Tomorrow the children will be here, so I’ll bake them fresh pies to eat.”

 The old cuss went back for his bounty. The hike back to the patch seemed quite long. His fist shook to the moon in frustration, when he saw that the pumpkin was gone. To O’Grady’s house crept the old villain. Through the window peered the old rat. The old lady was none the wiser, of the evil that lurked out back.

 In the kitchen he saw the old widow, with the top of the pumpkin off. She removed all the guts in the middle; it was orange, slimy and soft.

 “Mind the shell, you old hag from hell,” he whispered the words real low. “As soon as I can I will grab it. I need it for my horror show.”

Bowser arose; he sensed danger was near, in the kitchen he ran to combat it. He disrupted the table, knocked the bowl to the floor, ‘SPLUT’ the pumpkin pulp splatted. “Land a Goshen, so much commotion. Look at the mess you made fella! Heed my warning, you settle down or you’ll be confined to the cellar.”

The creepy old man was still peering. Under her window he leered. He was waiting his chance to commit his crime, and hoped not to get shot in the rear. His creaky old bones started popping; Bowser knew he heard something this time. He tried to alert her by barking. To the cellar she dragged him behind.

 “I told you bad boy, I have too much to do. I’m so nervous I can hardly think. If my husband were here he would tell you, ‘you could drive an old person to drink’.”

 “There’s a prowler out there can’t you hear him? I’m trying to tell you that now.” All she could hear as the cellar door closed was “Yap, yap, yip, howl, bow wow wow.”

 “Madame’s in imminent danger. I’d die if she ever got hurt. It was only by her loving kindness, that she plucked my poor soul from the dirt. When the demon spawn son of my owner, placed me and my siblings in graves, my tail must have wagged up a notice, otherwise I’d never be saved.  We lay there so cold, only one hour old, us four upside down in the ground. Too young to have faith and too weak to cry, would anyone respond to my sound? The other three died, I was fading fast, and the beat of my heart was frail. When my angel of life; O’Grady’s new wife, saved me by pulling my tail.”

 Upstairs the widow was not pleased. Missing spices caused baking to stop. “I don’t even have treats for the children. To the store I must run to shop. I’ll have  be quick; Bowser will never know, that I stepped out of the house in a hurry. Then I’d be back, quick as a wink, before my poor precious can worry.”

The creepy old man tried the window; it opened so he could get in. “I too shall be quick with my business.” Then he gave a sinister grin.

 The pumpkin shell looked like a diamond. He walked slowly to savor suspense. “I’ll go out through the window I came in, then the carving of fear will commence.” But before he could reach his treasure, the floor was still slippery with gunk; his arms and legs went four different ways, and met on the floor with a ‘THUMP’.

Bowser stood straight to attention; His victory was about to prevail. Through the cellar door entry he busted, just like a bat out of hell. “I’ll save you my mistress!” barked Bowser. “I’m ready to fight that’s a fact!” When the dust cleared, he needed a moment, for he came face to face with an axe.

 “I’ll split you in two you flea bitten mutt, you’d been better off down in your jail!” Old Bowser barked out a furious growl, translation: “I’ll see you in hell!”

 But the creepy old man had pulp on his hands, when he swung he lost hold of his weapon. He jumped out the window with the shell in hand, and knew that he had to quick step it.

 The chase was on, the old man was gone, but Bowser was close behind. The old man could see his back window, once through it he knew he’d be fine. He was hoping, “Ah yes, it’s open! I’ll dive right through, what the heck.” But his head only cleared the windowsill, ‘fore the window crashed down on his neck.

 His severed head flew and landed askew, on the table set for the great pumpkin. It couldn’t have happened in a million years. The candle dead centered inside him.

 The mess in the back was disgusting, thought Bowser who gagged at the sight. Wood splinters and glass, an old lifeless mass, and a pumpkin made a very tense night.

 “Trick or treat!” sang the children, all decked out in costumes quite dandy. The widow O’Grady was happy, as she generously gave them all candy. “Now be on your way, and be careful. There’s another house there over yonder.” The children waved as they left her. “What will we get next?” They all wondered.

 The run down old shack sure looked spooky, and on Halloween night that was good. “Trick or treat!” but no one answered, the kids wondered if anyone would. “There’s a light in the window,” said Annie. “So surely there’s somebody home.” They tiptoed so all could see in, then froze and turned white as limestone. Their hair stood on end, and they trembled, none of them making a sound. They all dropped their bags of candy, leaving puddles of pee all around.

Lickety-split they went running. When finally able to scream, they were home clutching their parents, explaining the terror they’d seen.

In the window the man’s head was drying, as it baked from the candle’s warm glow. The melted wax oozed from the haggard mouth, and looked like the froth of a troll. From one eye blood ran to the cheek where it dried, in the other no eyeball in sight. Through the socket the glow of the candle, was a beacon that shone through the night.

 All night this went on, children stopping for treats then running away forever damaged. The sight was one no man could endure, so how was a poor child to manage? Sad was the fact; no one knew that round back, a lifeless corpse rotted in sin. But from a window’s view, old Bowser knew, as he sat with a sinister grin.

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Mick Jagger sang, “You can’t always get what you want; But If you try sometime, you get what you need.” The song is right, if you try sometime you get what you need. Want to write a book? Make a film? Achieve success? Yes you have to try but trying will always lead you to a wall that will stop you in your tracks. Why? Because any need worth having is hard, it takes work, it takes effort, know this. So let’s take try a step further. As Jedi Master Yoda urged, “Do or do not. There is no try.” So, what’s the number one secret in reaching achievement?

The #1 secret for reaching achievement is ACTION! This is the power in giving something your all, not just giving something a try. This is a simple lesson, but one that so many miss, Action = Achievement; but is there a path? If so, what are the steps? I’m glad you asked and enthusiastic because I can help. Who am I? I’m a scared, two time loser who floundered until I achieved success. As a child I was an introvert who loved to read. Early on it was Curious George and Dr. Seuss. I would even read my coloring books all the way through before a crayon would ever touch them. My higher education was in Organic chemistry and most of my jobs either in labs or chemical manufacturing. In time, I ventured into social chemistry as a premiere mixologist, (I didn’t know it then but this was where my aha, light bulb moment to write would begin). All the while my constant was reading and movies. Did I mention that I was a two time loser? Yeah, I’m twice divorce, but before you judge, it was not my fault. . . well, yeah it was. Although, a wife was what I wanted, I failed to do my due diligence in order to pick one (or two), that wanted to stay married. I take full responsibility in that, but it crushed me and plummeted me into depression. I hit rock bottom. In my despair, I felt alone, unloved and hopeless. Why am I dropping this dirty laundry at your feet? To let you know that I understand. I understand fear, worthlessness, and hopelessness. I understand life, and it’s ups and downs (or should I say, downs and ups). I’ve survived divorces, negative feelings, Covid and even bypass heart surgery. Those low points were then, now, I’m an author of seven books and counting, one of which, ‘Shade of the Sun,’ is in development for a movie. I own a publishing company and understand achievement. Success is not without the help of others as well. For me, one life changing moment came from a celebrity in my hometown, Nick Clooney. In Cincinnati Ohio, he was our local news anchor, talk show host and you might know of his son, George Clooney. Before he was known as George’s dad, Nick was the man, a very nice and encouraging man. I first met him at a high school football game, but it was our second encounter that was so meaningful for me. It was at a signing of his book, ‘The Movies That Changed Us: Reflections On The Screen.’ After work, I got there too late to buy a book, due to its sellout, so I got a signature seal and got in line. I was in my beginning stage of writing my first book ‘Tales from the Satellite,’ and was feeling that my decision to write was too monumental a task. When I finally reached Mr. Clooney, I told him I was writing a book, then bombarded him with questions about motivation, fear and writer’s block. He politely listened and answered most if my questions simply with, “I enjoy eating.” When our exchange was over, I left the bookstore, outside, I looked at my seal and read, “From one author to another, Nick Clooney.” My eyes swelled with tears of gratitude. Mr. Clooney bestowed belief in me and knighted me with authorship. I am forever grateful for your unselfish encouragement, Mr. Clooney. In fact, I’m even grateful to my ex-wife because she set it up for me to not quit because then she would’ve been right. Now I can say, “You were wrong.”

So to everyone visiting this site, reading this blog, wanting to write, needing achievement . . . I am here for you. I’ll answer your questions, help you find your path, and show you steps. Please, with your permission, before you give in and give up, allow me to help. Reach out to me. Leave your emails, ask questions and leave answers as well. If you have tips share them, Let’s start a community and journey together. Visit the bookshelf on this site and read my fiction and return regularly for future writing subjects that we will address. And never forget, write, Write, WRITE!

From one Author to another,

Thanks for reading.

Ron.

With the arrival of his new novel, The Rogue Prophet, author Ron Houston, has mastered the art of forcing the readers to examine their own emotional considerations on spiritual beliefs, religious fanaticism and unholy clergymen preying on their flocks. His combination of controversial subject matter with a realistic writing approach makes it impossible to read this book and not examine your own need for or the lack of spiritual guidance. This will cause many religious zealots to squirm in their pews, examine the surroundings of their place of worship and address the true motivations behind the services that are provided in the name of God. Yet, it is all a work of fiction. In a time when we think we’ve seen, heard and read it all, Ron Houston’s, The Rogue Prophet, is an entertaining and important piece of work.
One of the most effective yet difficult challenge of any story crafting, is the ability to give the reader complete information and still surprise the reader throughout. The only way to accomplish this is to write a big story. The Rogue Prophet is a huge story, rich in character development, plot twist, and total entertainment. Ron Houston’s new novel is so well-crafted, that the reader knows what’s happening in the presence of the lead protagonist, Lawrence Garnier as well as what is going on behind his back, while still being slammed into one surprise after another. Almost every character is so developed that the reader feels like the fly-on-the-wall … that’s almost every character. Mr. Houston is very skilled in manipulating the reader, that he certainly saves some of the best surprises for last. By last, I mean that this is the first book in a two book series. Yes, even though The Rogue Prophet is such a satisfying thrill-ride, there are a few major plot twists that make the second book totally necessary. That’s a beautiful thing, because The Rogue Prophet is so entertaining, one book just wouldn’t be enough.
Lawrence Garnier, the youngest of three siblings, is a womanizing alcoholic. He lives at the New Orleans Women’s Mission with his sister who operates it. He has nothing going for himself except that he has a God-given gift of foresight. His ability is severely limited. He believes it to be a curse and the sole reason for his obviously cruel existence. Although, he can see the future of others, he can only see seven days out. This means any out of context flash he gets will either happen between the very next minute or seven days later, but for sure within one week. Worse, is the fact that Lawrence cannot see his own future at all. Because everyone close to him covets his ability for their own selfish desires, he will do anything to suppress or completely rid himself of this talent. this is the basis on which this incredible adventure lies. Because of a horrific, selfish hidden agenda of his brother, Lawrence falls into the evil clutches of Bishop Ezekiel Barnes who is everything but holy. This fire and brimstone preacher, dominates his church members through blame, guilt-ridden sermons and unsavory tactics of any bootleg operator for effect and money.
The Rogue Prophet, is an epic masterwork that consistently grows into an eventual boiling pot of good verse evil. Author Ron Houston, continues his track record of dealing with controversial social issues head on, which raises his most entertaining novel to date to thought-provoking levels. The Rogue Prophet, stares taboo topics such as, child abuse, religious fanaticism, drug abuse, power and money straight in the eyes.
Even when the reader wants to look away, you can’t because you are completely attached to the characters. You care what happens to these people, even the evil ones. The Rogue Prophet, is latent with tragedy and tempered with humor, making Mr. Houston’s work nothing short of brilliant. The Rogue Prophet, is a novel that is engaging, provocative, relevant and right on time. Just when you thought it was safe to believe.
The Rogue Prophet is available at Smashwords.com
http://smashwords.com/b/120887