Steven Moore's Blog

Six years ago this November my life changed.

Well, let me backtrack a few more months. Six months previous to that, on March 17th, St. Patrick’s Day, I met my now wife Leslie, and that is when my life really changed. It was at a dark and dingy bar in Daegu, South Korea, where the green beer was flowing and a raucous time was had by all. Fond memories indeed. But it was in those initial weeks of knowing Leslie that the first stirrings of a career in writing were felt. In fact, it was on our first date that I learned she herself was a writer, and wanting to impress her I told her I was a writer too. Well, I’d been scribbling in a Word document for a year or two about a memoir I was planning. Anyway, she asked me, “Oh yeah… well what have you written?” I stumbled, unable to make up anything on the spot, and admitted that, in truth, I had written nothing of note. She replied with, “Well, why don’t you write a novel then?” I think I just chuckled in shame and ordered more beers.

But Leslie soon introduced me to NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month, and I was intrigued. NaNoWriMo is an online program that encourages writers to not only start a project, but to actually finish it. The premise is simple. A week before November starts (It’s always in November) you begin thinking about ideas for your novel. You can take notes, but you’re not supposed to begin the actual writing. Then, on November 1st it’s all systems go. The daily target is 1,666 words, and after 30 days you’ll have, in theory, 50,00 words. The Great Gatsby was 50,000 words, so it’s an excellent target.

You can sign up to NaNoWriMo here: NANOWRIMO 2017

Here are some previous posts I wrote about NaNoWriMo, and if you have any questions or would like some advice, send me an email or respond in the comments. Or, just click these links:

NaNoWriMo: Winner!

I Wrote a Novel and You Can Too

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And come November 1st, I set out to write my very first novel. I had the seeds of an idea, something along the lines of a disillusioned kid in a dreary autumn in England. What I ended up with was definitely that, but it was also so much more. What started off as just a very rough first draft, after several rounds of editing and almost 3 years later, my debut novel, I Have Lived Today, was published. And not only that, it has actually done quite well considering I’ve had zero money for marketing and I’ve moved on to writing my Kane action series.

But the point of the story is this (well, one of them) … when I turned up at that bar, appropriately called Travellers, to meet some friends after my late teaching shift had finished, if someone there that night would have told me that not only would I have met the love of my life and my future wife, but that she would then inspire me to become a novelist, editor and travel writer, and a photographer, and that we’d end up living in many more countries and even buy a house together in Mexico… well I’d have thought those green beers and Irish leprechauns had cast some crazy disillusioning spell over them.

But what do you know? Six and a half years later I am indeed married to Leslie (yes, she’s still the love of my life) I am a writer, and although it’s still early days in terms of calling it a career, my book sales, combined with my sideline of editing and proofreading work and occasional travel writing, I am scratching a living. We do own a house in Mexico, and at time of writing we’re living in Bali with plans to spend much of next year in Edinburgh. One thing’s for sure… life is never dull.

Back to that first book. It’s quite a dark story, a coming-of-age tale about a poor, long suffering kid in 1960’s England. The feedback I’ve received from readers… almost 200, 5* reviews on Amazon, was overwhelmingly positive, and although in my opinion the book has many flaws… it was a debut with no writing education, after all… it is a book I am still very, very proud of. And it all started because of NaNoWriMo. So if you’re reading this but have often wondered about writing a novel yourself, wonder no more. This November, take part in NaNoWriMo yourself. It’s free, there are zero obligations, and it is very inspiring when you meet your daily targets and that story starts to come together. Who cares if it’s crap? Who cares if it never sees the light of day? Who cares if you never write another word?

I don’t. And nor should you. It’s just a great feeling to accomplish something like that.

Good luck, and if you have any questions or need advice about getting started with NaNoWriMo, send me a message and I promise to respond.

If you’re interested in checking out that debut, I Have Lived Today, you can find it on all Amazon online stores in eBook and paperback. Here are a couple of links:

Amazon UK   Amazon USA   Amazon Canada   Amazon Australia

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I’ve mentioned this often before, but I really am a gypsy at heart. I left the UK on my first backing trip in 1994 aged 20, and touched down in Bali with nothing more than a few ££s and a tiny backpack. It changed my life, and I’ve been happily infected with the travel bug ever since.

And I’m writing this newsletter to you from a wonderful house by the beach, once more back in Bali. We’ll be here for the next several months while renting out our house in Mexico, and it’s the perfect location to bring you the next amazing book promo.

It’s a collection of 14 travel and adventure books, both fiction and non-fiction. I’ve been personally involved with some of them from an editor’s/creator context, and have read almost all of the others. Thus, I can certainly vouch for their quality and entertainment value, and with adventures ranging from as far and wide as Samoa, Afghanistan, Brazil, South Africa, and the UK, amongst others, there is something for everyone. Among these pages you’ll find heart-warming tales of inspiration, some frightening adventures and rip-roaring action, memoir and archaeological discoveries, and some good old fashioned and humorous story telling.

So, if you fancy a little wanderlusting to get you through your coming week, just click on the link below, take a look at the exciting books on offer, click the covers, and download some or all of them today. And, as usual, every book in this collection is available to you, absolutely FREE.

THE GREAT SUMMER TRAVEL AND ADVENTURE BOOK GIVEAWAY

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[image error]These are just a few images of my last couple of weeks since returning to my first true love, Bali

Lastly, I’d just like to ask another favour, and one I’ve asked before. I cannot stress how difficult it is to get reviews for our books. I read somewhere it’s as few as one review per 2000 downloads. So, I ask you with all the hope and good wishes I can muster, if you have read either The Samurai Code or The Condor Prophecy, or listened to the former in audio version, please, please spend a couple of minutes leaving an honest review on the product page. It means so, so much to us, and every new review literally makes my day. Thanks in advance.

That’s all folks, except to urge you once more to check out some of those amazingly inspiring travel and adventure books available for FREE above. You won’t regret it.

Cheers,

Steven

The Condor Prophecy is LIVE

Hi everyone.

Today is the day…

After some crazy weeks of editing and proofing I can now say with an enormous amount of pride and excitement that Book 2 of the Hiram Kane Adventure series, ‘THE CONDOR PROPHECY’, is now LIVE on Amazon stores.

I’m launching at the discounted price of just $0.99 / £0.99 for  24 hours only, so be sure to grab your copy today.

With your help I’m sure we can have an amazing launch, and who knows, maybe even a bestseller? That would be a dream come true for a newbie indie like me.

Here’s the blurb as it appears on Amazon… I hope it tempts you!

An uprising looms…

A revenge demanded by Inca Gods…

A prophecy must be fulfilled!

While on an expedition in the Andes to locate the lost Inca city of Vilcabamba, Hiram Kane’s team is infiltrated by not one but two different terrorist factions, each seeking the legendary Inca gold to fund nefarious strikes against their enemy.

Catholics against Incans.

The Eagle Alliance versus The Condor Uprising.

Hiram Kane must defeat them both.

The expedition soon devolves into the deadliest of treasure hunts, and amidst the wild Andean weather and lethal terrain, a dangerous race against time.

Win, and Hiram Kane can prevent a new holy war.

Lose, and the ancient prophecy will unleash catastrophic consequences the world over.

The Condor Prophecy is the second instalment of the rip-roaring Hiram Kane adventure series, and perfect for fans of fast-paced, international action thriller writers such as Clive Cussler, Russell Blake & Scott Mariani.

To dive into the breathtaking world of Hiram Kane, buy your copy of The Condor Prophecy TODAY!

BUY it HERE:

AMAZON UK

AMAZON US

Just 24 hours to go…

Remember, the 0.99 sale will only last for 24 hours, so if the blurb tempts you and you want to support me and help me climb Amazon’s notoriously difficult rankings and defeat those pesky algorithms, please go and download The Condor Prophecy today!

Thank you all so very much… every single sale and subsequent review will really help me realise my dream of becoming a full time writer.

Thanks again, everyone.

I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed the writing. It really is an all action rumble through lost cities, mountains and jungles… and as I pack my bags for five months in beautiful Bali, that’s exactly what I’ll be doing myself, with a little long overdue surfing thrown in.

Cheers,

Steven

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Hello there, and how are you?

Okay, now…

I have a confession… I lied to my wife. Well, to be more accurate, I lied to my future wife on our very first date.

Let me explain.

We met almost seven years ago in Daegu, South Korea where we were both working at the time, me as an English teacher and Leslie as a freelance journalist. Because I knew she was a writer (and I really fancied her) when she asked me what my passions were I said I was a writer too (I had written a few things for fun, but at that stage I’d never even posted a blog).

She said with a healthy dose of cynicism, “Oh yeah? So what have you written?”

“Well, erm…” I replied. “Uh, well, nothing, really. Yes, nothing.” I probably blushed in shame.

“Well why don’t you write a novel then?” she asked.

Leslie and I went on several more dates, and have been together ever since, and married almost three years.

The reason I’m sharing this with you, is because if Leslie had never said that line about writing a novel I probably never would have. That word… novel. It sparked something in me that I’d never before considered. I had plans to be a travel writer, or at the very least a blogger. Travel had always been my passion, and combined with a little amateur photography that seemed like a good plan.

Anyway, in that chilly Korean November of 2011 I began my very first book during NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) and the result was my debut novel, ‘I Have Lived Today’, published in October 2014. If you’re interested you can check it out here:     I Have Lived Today

(Please be aware it’s a very different genre to my Hiram Kane series, more a literary coming of age tale set in dreary 1960s England. The book has done very well, and one reviewer even labelled it “…a Dickensian like quest.”

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Leslie and I have spent much of our 6+ years together on the road. Travel is definitely a shared passion, and combined we’ve visited over 100 countries and together we’ve lived and worked in many cool destinations, including Thailand, France, Bali, & South Korea. We now call beautiful San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, our hometown.

To read some of my travel writing and blogs, click here:   Twenty First Century Nomad

Again, I only mention this to demonstrate where I get inspiration for my stories from. I’ve been to almost every location that Hiram Kane finds himself in across the series, and I’m trying to stick to that age-old literary adage, write what you know. For example, for those of you who have read ‘The Samurai Code’, you’ll know it’s set on a small island called Miyajima, nestled in Hiroshima Bay. Leslie and I visited that amazing place, and when I was thinking of locations where to set that first novella, Miyajima seemed perfect. We’ve been, I know the layout of the island, and we’ve visited the magnificent Itsukushima Shrine and the O’tori Gate, seen below. The exact same is true of my latest release, The Tiger Temple, set in Bali. Again, I wrote what I knew.

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If you have read any of my books, but haven’t yet left an honest review on Amazon, please do so. Every single review is so important to us indie authors, and helps my books attract new readers to Hiram Kane’s ongoing adventures. This link should take you to your relevant Amazon store:  Amazon

Thank you again for taking the time to read this post. I love to hear from my readers, and have enjoyed getting your feedback over the last weeks and months.

Thanks again, and have a great week.

Steven

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Good morning.

I often get asked about where I live and work from, so I thought I’d share with you a little about my adopted hometown and my choice of desks.

My wife Leslie and I are fortunate enough to work from home. Well, when I say fortunate, I mean we’ve both worked very hard and made some good choices to be able to do so.

So where is home? Three years ago we bought a house in the beautiful colonial city of San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. Just 3 hours north of Mexico City, San Miguel is a stunning town full of fascinating Spanish architecture and panoramic vistas. Not only is it a UNESCO World Heritage city, but it’s also a hotbed of creativity, with world famous artists, musicians, and writers now calling it home.

We’re inspired on a daily basis just living here and being surrounded by so much creativity, and visiting here on a whim three and a half years ago was the best decision we’ve ever made.

So, how about the office?

Well, I’m spoilt for choice. The first image is my main workspace. It’s nothing fancy, and until we build specialised offices upstairs this works fine. I’m usually kept company by one or both of our cats, Ernie or Fitz (yes, you guessed it, Ernest Hemingway & F. Scott Fitzgerald)

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We are also fortunate enough to have a nice garden, a rarity in this city, so I often change my view by stepping outside. There are always dozens of hummingbirds and butterflies flitting about (hence why we named the property Casa de los Colibries… House of the Hummingbirds), and with a small fountain tinkling away, it really is a lovely space.

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And as per the norm in Mexico, we have a wonderful terraza with great vistas over the surrounding countryside, and though I often spend hours up here working, when the workday is finished the first thing we do is grab an adult beverage and soak up the view.

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San Miguel is also filled with outstanding coffee shops and bars, and Leslie and I will often head into Historico Centro to work for a few hours, before hitting our favourite rooftop bars for happy hour.

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And if you’re wondering who Ernie & Fitz are, well…

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I give you…
San Miguel de Allende, Mexico:

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Here’s a little something I wrote a couple of weeks back I’d like to share with you if you missed it last time:

I’m writing this while sitting at one of my favourite bars here in San Miguel de Allende, La Azotea…The Rooftop (My view was the cover image of this newsletter) I’ve been here quite a while, I’m in a philosophical mood, and I feel great.
In my entire working life–that’s 30 years, including paper rounds– I’ve never felt more positive or inspired about my working future. Okay, I admit it, I’m into my 5th round of happy hour drinks…that’s 9 glasses of sauvignon, between you and me…and yes, I’m pretty sozzled.
But I also woke up feeling inspired, as I stepped out onto our patio to eat breakfast beneath an energising blue sky and surrounded by a kaleidoscope of colourful bougainvillaea and butterflies, the only audible distractions my hungry protesting cats and the once rusty cogs whirring in my over-filled head.
But…
I’m onto something. I really am. My writing, I mean, and within my writing, my protagonist Hiram Kane is inspiring me further (he’s a guy I wouldn’t mind being).
I’ve spent much of the last 25 years–yes, a quarter of a century– worried that I’d never be good at anything. Self-doubt is the burden of many a creative person. I’ve dabbled with this and that, and for a few years I was a decent English teacher. I’ve even sold a few paintings. But back then I was never inspired. That’s all changed now.

* wait, I see the barman approaching
Now… It’s not to say I’m a good writer, but that’s almost irrelevant. What’s important is that I’ve finally found something I’m at least confident I CAN be good at, and might already be. Time will tell, but the omens are good.
My guy, Kane, basically my imagined, fictional self, is a good guy, and very good at what he does.
Maybe, just maybe, so am I. “Barman? Uno mas, por favor.”

And with that, I’d like to wish you all a wonderful weekend, and, if you yourself are a writer, I’d love to learn about where you live and work from. Images of desks and offices greatly appreciated, and I always respond to all emails.

Cheers,
Steven

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I’m writing this while sitting at one of my favourite bars here in San Miguel de Allende, La Azotea…The Rooftop. I’ve been here quite a while, the view is magnificent, I’m in philosophical mood, and I feel great.

In my entire working life–that’s 30 years, including paper rounds–I’ve never felt more positive or inspired about my working future. Okay, I admit it, I’m into my 5th round of happy hour drinks…that’s 9 glasses of sauvignon, between you and me…and yes, I’m pretty sozzled.

But I also woke up feeling inspired, as I stepped out onto our patio to eat breakfast beneath an energising blue sky while surrounded by a kaleidoscope of colourful bougainvillaea and butterflies, the only audible distractions my hungry protesting cats and the once rusty cogs whirring in my over-filled head.

But…

I’m onto something. I really am. My writing, I mean, and within my writing, my protagonist Hiram Kane is inspiring me further (he’s a guy I wouldn’t mind being).

I’ve spent much of the last 25 years–yes, a quarter of a century–worried that I’d never be good at anything. Self-doubt is the burden of many a creative person. I’ve dabbled with this and that, and for several years I was a decent English teacher. I’ve even sold a few paintings. But back then I was never inspired. That’s all changed now.

It’s not to say I’m a good writer, but that’s almost irrelevant. What’s important is that I’ve finally found something I’m at least confident I CAN be good at, and might already be. Time will tell, but the omens are good.

My guy, Kane, basically my imagined, fictional self, is a good guy, and very good at what he does.

Maybe, just maybe, so am I.

“Barman? Uno mas, por favor.”

Hi there, everyone.

I’m so excited to finally launch my new book, The Samurai Code. It’s taken a long while to finish, what with travelling, other work commitments and general life, but I’m glad to say it’s finally here.

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It’s a 36,000-word novella, and is the first instalment of my new 5 book, action / adventure series, featuring my brave, and somewhat flawed protagonist, Hiran, Kane. Kane is an archaeologist turned expedition leader who was in part named after legendary American adventurer, Hiram Bingham, the guy that accidentally re-discovered Machu Picchi, Peru, in 1911. To learn more about Kane’s history and his travels, well … well you’ll have to read the books.

 

I often get asked who my books might appeal to. The short answer, I hope, is everyone. But to be more specific, if you’re a fan of the Indiana Jones movies, or you love to read books by the likes of Clive Cussler or Russell Blake, then you’re in for a treat.

To show my appreciation that you’ve taken an interest in my work, I would love to give you a FREE download of the book. To claim your gift, just click this link: Free Book

Alternatively, if you really want to support me in my fledgeling career, The Samurai Code is also available to buy on Amazon. I’m keeping the price low, a) because it’s a novella, and b) I’m trying to make a name in a new genre, so I want to find as many new readers as possible.

Like I said, I’d be delighted to give you a free download. But if you want to show your support by paying £0.99 or $0.99, that would make me happy too.

Here are the links:
Amazon UK
Amazon USA

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Reviews: As always, and I’ve said this many times, reviews truly are author gold. Now more than ever is that true for me. I’m launching into a whole new genre, which is the same as starting from scratch. Many of you were kind enough to not only read my debut novel, I Have Lived Today, but also to leave an honest review on Amazon – over 150 of you in fact.

So here goes. If you do download either your FREE copy of The Samurai Code, or you buy it on Amazon, a review will really be appreciated. It doesn’t matter if it’s a 1* review or 5*, as long as it’s a) honest and b) anonymous. Friends and family aren’t technically allowed to review on Amazon – it goes against their Terms and Conditions (but everyone does it, so help a brother out). Please don’t mention me by name, and the best kind of reviews are short and punchy, that’s all, no matter how many stars it is worth.

Once again, thanks so much for your continued support, and I hope that you like reading The Samurai Code as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Happy reading,

Steven

 

 

This is a short story I wrote a few years back after visiting Auschwitz/Birkenau, and spending a little time in Krakow, Poland. I know I’ve improved drastically as a writer since this was written, but I felt like sharing it anyway. However, my words cannot possibly do justice to the unimaginable atrocities that occurred during that oh-so-bleak time in history, when all the world was dark and pain was being felt everywhere.

The Death of Helena

by Steven Moore

 03 January, 1943

 04:30
 The whistles and screams punctuated the silent night like so many nightmares come alive. We’d been expecting the raid for weeks, but when trying to remain civilized, life in the ghetto continued as usual. Just that previous evening, some of the few remaining musicians gathered and played a few songs, lightening the mood of the Podgorze ghetto, if only for a few hours. With rare joy in our hearts and music in our ears, we returned to our overcrowded and dilapidated apartments, and forgot about our plight. Thus, we were unprepared.


With no time for families to hide their children or the elderly, every resident of our block was wrenched violently from their beds and marched onto the cold, dark street. Any resistance was met with a bullet, the elderly were gunned down indiscriminately, and crying babies were silenced by a single shot to the head. It was our turn to suffer the insufferable…Nazi liquidation of the ghettos.

 In our apartment, shared with other displaced Jewish families, were a total of twenty one people. There were the Hellers, Itzac and Rita, and their three young children. Three generations of the Goldman family occupied the largest room, Mr. Jan and his mother, his wife and her parents, and their five children. There were also three orphans that we took care of, their parents deported in an earlier round up. And we are the Ackermans, or what is left of us. My husband’s father Abram, my five year old daughter Anna, and me.

My name is Helena…and this is the story of my death.

 05:30

With lightning efficiency invoked by terror, we were bundled along icy streets, freezing in flimsy nightclothes, such was the speed of the round up. We walked, many of our numbers dying from cold and left  where they fell, until we reached the platform of Prokocim station. In the chaos, a father’s anger often got  him shot, while mothers clung on to their children with desperate and surprising strength, just as I was  doing with my beautiful Anna now…a mother’s arms are strong when her child is in danger.




Like cattle, we were herded into wagons that would take us into oblivion. Actually, we weren’t at all like cattle, come to think of it. No, because cattle are healthy and well fed…cattle have a use in the world. In reality, we’d become less than cattle, so dehumanized that we were after nearly a year of sickness and food rationing in the ghetto. From the darkness, blows rained randomly upon us, from SS clubs or rifle butts, and the screams of the guards were the screams of brain washed lunatics. Giant dogs, starved and trained to kill, strained for a piece of Jewish meat…oh how they’d be disappointed with this group of emaciated living dead…though it didn’t deter them, snapping and snarling amid the scent of fear and death. And then came the worst moment of my life.

Just as I was lifting little Anna onto the wagon, I was beaten to the ground by two rifle wielding SS men. I screamed for my baby as the blows kept coming, unable to stand and too weak to fight. I was so desperate yet helpless to do anything. Through stinging tears I could see my baby, crying for her mother, the tears of a thousand lost children streaming down her pale, innocent cheeks. Through the madness I saw a familiar face, a pair of strong arms lifting Anna into them. It was Itzac Heller from the apartment. Over the screams and the bedlam, I heard Itzac shouting he would take care of Anna. He smiled weakly, a smile that told me not to worry, that she was with his family for now, and she would be safe. I was trying to stand when the doors of the wagon were slammed shut, and my baby was gone. That was the moment that my heart was finally broken.

After months of hope and courage since my husband was taken, I finally realized that our world was being destroyed, and the simple, happy life I had known, would never be the same again. The next moment, I felt arms around me, dragging me from the cold concrete platform towards another wagon, but I was oblivious now, lost in my own grief. I closed my eyes and wished I would die, praying that this nightmare would end.

07:15

I came to my senses just as the long line of transports slowly pulled away from the grizzly platform, a simple concrete canvas of blood and pain, the latest in a constant flow of human cargo after continuous rounds of liquidation. Littering the concrete were the bodies of the dying or dead, irrelevant as it was to the psychotic SS…if you were too weak to climb aboard the wagon, you were as good as dead to the guards, and coldly executed on the spot. Despite the horror of this, those victims were the lucky ones, though none of us knew that yet. I don’t know who it was that saved me on the platform, for I would surely have been shot had I just laid there as I wanted to. But I am not grateful, not at the moment. I wanted to die back there, having lost everything that I have ever loved. My dear husband and my little angel. What has become of them…what will become of me?

09:30

After a while, the screams of terror and cries of confusion subsided, replaced by an eerie calm as resignation of the situation settled over us. The adults in the wagon started talking in hushed tones, speculating on our destination, discussing the rumors we had heard in the ghetto. We were bound for Belzec labor camp, one elder said, where we would work until we died. One younger woman suggested that we were being relocated for work, new jobs and a new home, surely better than the ghetto, she believed. Opinions differed greatly, and many believed what the woman had said, that we would be better off out of the ghetto, wherever it might be. Then another man, a well known and respected figure in pre-war Krakow, and now a leader of sorts in the Podgorze ghetto, spoke up.
“My fellow Jews,” Rabbi Lazowski began, “I believe that from where we are going there will be no return. We will arrive there, and we will die there. Some of us will die quickly, while others will be put to work until death, but we will die, all of us. I suggest you take the time in this wagon to pray for your families, and pray for the Jewish people, for we will be no more.” One young man spoke up now, scared, his voice weak and trembling.
“Where is this place you speak of, what is the name? Surely no such place exists, it’s just a rumor to scare us.”
The elder replied, “My son, and to all of you, this place is not a myth, it is real, and it is where we are going to die.”
“And the name?” a woman asked softly.
The Rabbi, with a pained look of love and sorrow etched across his wizened old face, replied, “My people, we are going to Auschwitz.”

The Rabbi began softly reciting the Kaddish, the Jewish prayer for the dead. As others began to join in, speaking as tears streamed from frightened eyes, I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who believed we were saying the prayer of death for ourselves.

It was at this time that I regained some composure. I didn’t know where we were going, or what would happen to us, but I vowed that I would see my little Anna again. I couldn’t imagine not ever looking into those beautiful brown eyes one more time, eyes that so many had told me were mirror images of my own. I have to look into those eyes again, and tell my angel that I love her. I must stay alive long enough to do this; I will survive this journey. Internally I spoke this mantra to myself, over and over again, whispering, ‘I will survive; I must survive.’ This new resolve did keep me alive through the night, I am sure of it. It would have been the easy option to give in and close my eyes, never to wake again. It was all I lived for from that moment on…to survive long enough to tell my baby I loved her.

14:00

Hours later, a deathly silence had descended over the wagon. The quiet, punctured only by the occasional sobbing child and the squeal of overworked wheels on steel tracks, was forced upon us. The fact that we were so tightly packed in, simply breathing became our only objective. I don’t know how many of us were crammed into that wagon…two hundred…five hundred…but I know that it was inhumane, just another Nazi ploy to terrorize the Jews.
Already, many of us were at death’s door, after months of sickness and starvation due to food rationing and disease in the ghettos. The weakest of us didn’t last the day in that wagon. By nightfall, twenty seven had died, mostly the elderly and children. Hunger and exhaustion had taken their toll, leaving childless mothers and motherless children. Still I recanted my mantra, forcing myself to fight the desire to sleep, to let death take me.

23:15

Time was eternal as the hours passed like weeks. Only the crush of those around you prevented collapse from exhaustion, with no space to sit or stretch. That night, our transport was stopped. We were not given any food, and were not told anything of our destination, simply left alone, tormented by our imaginations. People spoke in hushed whispers about their families. Children cried from fear and hunger, a mother’s soothing voice covering her own terror. The air in the wagon was icy, and the sound of the sick coughing was the sound of death. By around three in the morning, all was quiet and still, as if time itself had stopped, and in spite of my own resolve, it was the longest, most difficult night of my life.

January 4th, 1943
07:15
 
As dawn arrived, sufficient light entered the wagon for us to realize that many more had died…had maybe been dead all night, held upright by the oblivious mass. We’d not eaten or had water since the round up, and by the time our transport began the slow roll east, half of our wagon were dead. In total, one hundred and forty five souls had perished within that carriage alone, one of an endless line. The stench of death and human waste was unimaginable, and no tomb could have been more horrific.

 09:23

We couldn’t see beyond the tight wooden slats that kept us entombed within our wagon, but if we could, at precisely 09:23 of January 4th, 1943, we would have seen ourselves pass through a red brick gatehouse onto a long, concrete platform. We didn’t know it, but we had entered the gates of hell…Death Camp Birkenau, where the faint orange glow of death clouded the air.

That half had died en-route was no accident: it simply sped up the ‘final solution,’ of which many of us were still unsure, despite Rabbi Lazowski’s tragic statement. When the SS finally opened the doors to the wagon on the platform, some twenty six hours after being dragged aboard, I was blinded by the daylight, and as I stumbled and fell to the stony, cold floor below, I couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing. Those that didn’t make it alive were simply thrown into nearby pits, adding to the piles of hundreds of corpses. Those too weak to climb down unassisted were simply executed where they stood, and fed to the ravenous SS German Shepherd’s, though no shepherding is required when your quarry is served to you on a stony plate. The remains were tossed into the equally ravenous pits of death, shrouded by swarming flies, despite the sub-zero temperatures.

09:45

With the SS screaming at us through loudspeakers, we were ordered into separate lines, one line of men, and another of women and children, ready to undergo our first ‘selection,’ though selection for what we didn’t yet know. I could see this same process happening up and down the mile long platform, as more than four thousand Jews had arrived in one single transport. It’s why we had waited the night nearby, as there was simply not enough room to enter the gates of Birkenau, with the machinations of death in full swing.

Amid the panic, entire families were wrenched apart, oblivious to the reality that they’d never again set eyes upon each other. Chaos and confusion ruled our lives in those panic ridden few minutes, as we were efficiently ordered into our groups. Anybody that showed resistance was beaten to death, or if they were lucky, shot in the head. With incredible speed and efficiency, the mass of humanity had been pacified, while unrestricted brutality and terror reigned supreme. Impossible as it was to believe, an SS guard told us that ‘everything would soon be alright,’ though the callous smirk on his young, pasty face betrayed his lie. This boy could only be sixteen years old, and here he was wielding a rifle, apparently enjoying himself…such hatred in someone so young…I wonder how many Jews he has beaten or shot? I couldn’t hate him back, though I wanted to. I pitied him, brain washed as he surely was by his Fuhrer.

10:05

In a dream like state, the women and children that now formed my group were bullied and beaten away from the others, through a series of high, barbed wire fences, terrifying in their simplicity, the screaming guards and snarling dogs our constant nemeses. We were marched into a simple looking concrete structure, frozen from the cold, and sapped of energy. Here we were told we‘d have to have our hair cut off for sanitation reasons. As a proud Jewish woman, I had always treasured my long, wavy brown hair, but within a couple of seconds it was shaved to the scalp…the latest of a series of actions to humiliate us.

‘It’s for your own good,’ the smiling SS woman guard said, though it was the cold, heartless smile of a maniac. This though was just a pre-cursor of what was to follow, the ultimate humiliation for a female Jew. Under the threat of death, we were all forced to strip naked. In thirteen years of marriage, even my own husband had never seen me naked with the lights on…and here I was now, bald, naked and terrified under the indifferent looks of the SS guards. Though we were naked, the male guards didn’t look at us in a sexual way. We were Jews after all, dirty, contagious Jews, mere animals in the eyes of the Nazis.

A few of the women around me refused to do this most dehumanizing of acts, and were summarily beaten and then executed on the spot, their bodies hitting the cold concrete in a flash. The young guards took great pleasure with the beatings, cursing as they smashed the butts of their rifles into the helpless victims. “Filthy Jewess,” they would scream, “Dirty Jewish pigs.” Unbelievably, myself and others were ordered to strip the bodies naked anyway, under threat of suffering the same demise. This cold hearted extermination of innocent lives did not seem real, the whole thing like some kind of abstract event, outside of reality, a nightmarish vision that couldn’t even be imagined, such was the horror of it.

10:30

Despite this violence against those that resisted, the guards at this stage were jovial and quiet, almost dignified. This in some ways was even more frightening to me than the screaming and beatings we’d endured. You knew that they would harm you, those psyched up guards on the railway platforms. Here, the apprehension of what may yet follow was unbearable. It was a deliberate ploy of course, a calculated method of pacifying the masses, who still unaware of what was to come, may revolt from sheer desperation.

We were told that we would be showered and deloused, and afterwards, moved into our comfortable barracks from where we would begin our new jobs…our new lives. We were even told we should remember the peg number for our clothes, to make it easier to locate them after our showers. This information, though not good news…we Jews are no longer slaves…did seem to pacify the group. The crying and wailing lessened to sobs and words of comfort, some women even whispered their hope of surviving this nightmare.

We were slowly, gently even, ushered into a second underground room, cold and windowless, but with hundreds of shower heads protruding from the low ceiling. The sight of the showers lightened the mood further, as word spread back along the long lines of filthy, walking skeletons, that we really were about to have showers, water with which to wash away the horrors of the previous twenty six hours, maybe even the years of the occupation.

10:55

As the last of more than seven hundred women and children were huddled inside the shower block, the heavy steel doors were quickly closed, followed by a minute or two of nervous but excited chatter. As the minutes went by uneventfully, the noise level dropped to barely a murmur, as nerves and apprehension of the unknown grew, weighing down heavily upon us.

Looking around about me at the hundreds of skinny, hollow eyed women and few remaining children, I couldn’t believe my eyes. There, just a few meters away and crouching by another group of ladies, head shaved and barely distinguishable from the other kids save one feature, was my angel…my Anna. Those huge brown eyes, eyes that could melt any heart, were unmistakable. In a flood of tears I swept over and took her up in my arms, relief washing over me.



I had prayed to see my baby alive again, long hours aboard the wagon praying for this moment…and there she was, her dirty face puffy from crying, a bewildered look dominating her delicate features. I was confused…why didn’t she cry out ‘mama, mama?’ Of course! She didn’t recognize me. With no clothes on, and my hair gone, I looked just like every other woman in the room.

“My baby, it’s me, your mama. I’m here now, and I love you, I love you so much.” When she realized who I was, the smile that broke on her face seemed to light up the entire room, causing many of those around me to shed their own tears. Finally, as she cried out, “mama, mama,” I knew that whatever happened to us now, we would be together forever, never to be torn apart again. I would hold her tight in my mother’s arms until the end of time.

11:03

After what seemed like an eternity, suddenly the lights went dead, and we were pitched into total blackness. Seconds later a terrifying hissing sound filled the room…and then the screams started. Clutching my baby even tighter, I automatically knew that the rumors about Auschwitz-Birkenau were true…we were not relocated here to begin new jobs and start new lives. We were at a Nazi Death Camp, and within a few agonizing minutes, every woman and child in this room will have been exterminated, simply because we were Jewish. Turning the lights off above us was to cloak us in a shroud of death.

11:05

I closed my eyes and sat down, and thought about the family I had lost. My inspirational parents, who mercifully had died in the early days of the ghetto, and did not have to endure the horrors of the last few months…I knew now they were the lucky ones. My loving brother Jerzy, who along with his wife Marian and their three young children, Lucia, Ester and Samuel, were taken five months before in the first round of the liquidation of our ghetto. I wondered what had become of them, hoping that they were okay. But now, undoubtedly, I knew that they were dead.

My wonderful husband, my dear Jacob, kind, loving and funny. My hero. I had hoped and prayed that he had survived, that we would be reunited after the war was over. In reality I knew that he had not survived, I knew it in my heart and in my soul. I missed him so much, and he would never again hold me in his strong arms. I thought about all the friends and neighbors I’d had, from school, to growing up in Krakow, and then the last few months in the ghetto. Strangers had become close friends, extended family, a solidarity that could not be broken was formed in those difficult months living side by side in Podgorze. I prayed for them now, as I know they have prayed for me.

And, my beautiful baby daughter, Anna, so precious and precocious at just five years old, my angel. As I looked down into her wide, innocent brown eyes for the last time, sat peacefully on my lap on the cold, stone floor, she looked back into my eyes and said, “Mama, I don’t feel well…my eyes hurt.” As my heart broke into a thousand pieces, I said softly back to her, “My baby, it’s OK, your mama is here. Go to sleep now, and everything will be all better tomorrow…I promise.” It was the first lie I had ever told.

11:09

As I lay back on my concrete death bed, my baby in my arms, I asked God why he had forsaken us, so many of his chosen people. When no answer came, I simply waited for death to save us, holding little Anna close to me in my arms, never to let go, with relief that my beautiful baby girl would not die alone.

11:17 …………..

11:46


 THE END

All photos are from the walls of the museum at Auschwitz.

Today, Saturday, October 8, marks the first ever Indie Author Day. Now, I’m not really sure what that means, or who in the world knows about it, but I just saw it on Facebook, so it must be true.

Nevertheless, it gives me the opportunity to write this post, in which I would just like to give a huge shout out to all the independent authors out there, who, through their own hard work and passion, have managed to get their books out into the world. It’s a terribly difficult, demanding and often painful undertaking, and anyone who has completed the task to the point of self publishing a book deserves great credit. If you are someone that has tried, and tried again, and still fallen short, never give up. It will all be worth it in the end, and if you’re in need of any inspiration, check out my posts about NaNoWriMo, (National Novel Writing Month) and it will give you a great chance of success. Try this first: I Wrote a Novel, And You Can Too

At the same time, it would be rude of me not to mention a few friends of mine who, as indie authors, have self published some brilliant books.

The inspirational Mark J Dawson, who has, in a short space of time, not only created a veritable catalogue of excellent thriller novels, but has shared his expertise of the self-publishing indie world with his online course, the Self Publishing Formula.

Next up is my old Yorkshire mucker, drinking buddy and fellow traveler, John Hopton. John’s two books so far have been one hilarious and semi-fictitious look down memory lane, named ‘Three Little Boys’, and his laugh-out-loud-funny ‘Following Football’, a footy based travelogue in which John hilariously charts his own travels along the World Cup Trail from South Africa to Brazil.

 

Another mate of mine, the talented John Bowen, has entertained the world with two best selling novels and a bone-chilling collection of short stories. His debut novel, ‘Where the Dead Walk’, is an International Amazon Kindle Store Top 100 bestseller, and ‘Vessel’, John’s second novel, is a #1 bestseller in Thriller and Mystery. For horror fans, check out ‘Cold Sweats & Vignettes’. John is currently working on a 3rd novel, working title of ‘Death Stalks Kettle Street’, and if it’s half as good a read as his previous books, it will be great. John is, incidentally, is the guy credited for designing the covers for my upcoming series, so if you’re an indie author in need of excellent cover design, John‘s your man.

Another friend, the jet-setting Pirate of the Danube, Jamie Bowlby-Whiting, has also entertained us with his thirst for adventure and anecdotes from a world many of us aren’t familiar with. Jamie’s excellent travel blog, Great Big Scary World, is a good place to start. His first book, ‘The Avant Garde Life’, was written to encourage people to get out and explore the world, and that was soon followed up by a book that takes that encouragement even further, ‘The Boy Who Was Afraid of the World: A True Story of Fear and Hitchhiking’ Jamie’s latest offering is the true story of his hike across Iceland, which didn’t always go to plan. ‘Across The Moon’

Last but not least, I want to mention my brilliantly talented wife, Leslie Patrick. Leslie has self-published two very successful books, The Coffee Date Guides to Freelance Journalism and Travel Writing. Leslie is an expert in her field, and for just a few dollars you could learn from the best. Leslie also has an excellent travel blog, found here at The Chic Adventurer

And in keeping with the spirit of it all, I suppose I should at least mention my own book once. So here goes. I Have Lived Today. Mildly curious? Then click the link to find out more.

And stay tuned for my upcoming series of adventure novels…

Once again, a massive congratulations to all the self-published ‘Indie Authors’ out there. I know how difficult it is to follow your dreams to get your books out into the world, so I for one, salute each and everyone of you.

Cheers,

Steve

Filed under: Books, debut novel, fiction, I Have Lived Today, Indie author, NaNoWriMo, novelist, Steven Moore Author, tips, Uncategorized, writer Tagged: advice, AUTHOR, inspiration, Jamie Bowlby-Whiting, John Bowen, John Hopton, Mark Dawson, NaNoWriMo, novel, work in progress, writing

With the second of what I hope will be a total of three edits for Book I of my upcoming series now complete, it’s time to take a break from the desk and do some research. A commonly used phrase for writers of any genre is the first draft is easy, or some form of the same sentiment, and although it is never easy to complete a manuscript, it is perhaps easier than the subsequent editing of drafts.

So, after a round of editing is complete, I find it really useful to step away from the manuscript for a while, and instead spend my time researching, both for extra inspiration for the novel itself, but more important for me is to learn from others who know what they’re doing in terms of the theme and structure of a book far better than I do.

It’s perhaps obvious, but this simple statement is true: Writing is easy. Writing well is not.

Shown here are some of the books that will help shape my project. Firstly, on the left are the story and style inspirations. Indiana Jones speaks for itself. A classic adventure, with one central protagonist, if this doesn’t inspire my novels, nothing well. I really admire Clive Cussler. His epic adventures are a little far fetched, but he writes with such pace and adrenalin that I hope to incorporate some of the feel of Inca Gold into my books. Although I didn’t like Clive Thubron’s To The Last City that well, I did enjoy the descriptive way he puts you right there in the jungle. Since a lot of my story takes place in a similar geographical destination, I know I can learn from him. I’ve read it once, and I will now read it again in an effort to absorb his descriptive skill.

On the right are the books that I’m sure will help me from the technical side of writing. I was lucky enough to have sat in a lecture by Stuart Horwitz at the San Miguel Writers’ Conference in February, and even luckier to hang out with him at the after party. The guy was super generous with his time, and I learned a lot from simply chatting to him. However, I won one of his books on writing in the lecture, Book Architecture, and bought another from the store, Blueprint Your Bestseller, and upon cursory examination I firmly believe that his knowledge and skill, when implemented into my own work, will help turn what could be a good story into a great one. I also met the lovely Lynn Isenberg, and just speaking with her at the conference was inspiring enough. Such energy and passion can only be good for my writing, and Author Power, her bestselling guide to empowering authors, is sure to work wonders for me too. Susan Bell’s The Artful Edit is, quite simply, a masterclass on the notoriously difficult challenge of editing. I’ve read it 3 times so far, and I will not begin the third and final edit of Book I until I’ve completed it again. I cannot recommend it highly enough to anyone writing a novel. Next to that is the excellent The First Five Pages. Again, it is obvious, but if a reader isn’t drawn into your story within the first few pages, they probably aren’t going to read the next five. Noah Lukeman’s succinct and practical guide is an excellent resource.

So that’s what I’ll be doing for the next week or two. Reading, taking notes and being inspired to make my next book, I hope evocatively entitled ‘The Condor Prophecy’, as good as it can possibly be.

I’d be delighted to hear what books inspire you in your writing, or any other valuable resources you’d recommend to a guy still very much learning his craft.

Cheers,

Steven

 

 

Filed under: Books, fiction, Indie author, novelist, Steven Moore Author, Uncategorized, work in progress, writer Tagged: adventure, editing, FICTION, Hiram Kane III, Indie Author, Lynn Isenberg, Stuart Horwitz, Susan Bell, The Condor Prophecy