Thursday, August 22, 2013

Interview with Richard Porter

Today my guest is Richard Porter, author of London Lunatic. Meet him and read an excerpt from his work. If you like what you read, I'd love your comments.

Tell us a little about yourself? 

In 2009, the doctors told me I had Prostate Cancer. At that time, I had just received a lead role in a play that I was acting in. The doctor told me to come into his office and sit down, that he wanted to explain some things to me. Mr. Porter the doctor said. You have three choices. You can do nothing, and you will survive three years. Then we will only be able to make you comfortable with some medication. The second thing is to have an operation and clear all the Cancer out of your body. And lastly, you may take radiation treatments for that will also clear the Cancer from your body as well. The medical procedures will leave you with some problems for the rest of your life. These procedures if done early enough will leave you with a better quality of life. We have seen a 90% success rate from having these procedures done. I walked out of that office afraid and angry. Once I arrived at home,called my children, and we discussed what would be the best decision for the family. We all agreed that radiation would be the best way for us to go. That was in November of 2009 as I went through those horrible weeks of radiation. Five days a week without fail. 

I studied 300 lines that I had to bring to memory. I was the lead actor in the play called "The Devil Is Loose." Most of those eight weeks were very uncomfortable. I still was able to perform and did a good job. I told none of the production staff about my medical condition. 

Now, I write e-books for Amazon Kindle, and happy to say, the year is 2013, and I will continue as long as I can. I hope that when you purchase one of my books. My belief is you will enjoy the stories that I produce. I write like there is no tomorrow, so you will get my very best every time out. 

What made you want to become a writer? 

I have a love of reading horror books. So I began to try my hand at writing horror. 

What genre do your works fall into? 

Most of my work is Horror/Mystery/Fantasy 

What about this genre appeals to you? 

You can dream up the most horrible stories, and you don't have to hold back anything. 

Could you tell us a bit about your most recent book and why it is a must-read? 

My London Lunatic is only for hard core Horror fans of all ages. The average person would be highly upset if forced to read this tale. But those who love horror will enjoy this story like no other. 

What gives you inspiration for your book? 

Some of my dreams, people I see in the street. In fact I killed my landlord in a story. She had raised my rent in real life. That is how I got even with her. Just kidding. 

Are your characters based off real people or did they all come entirely from your imagination?

Most of the people in my stories are make believe. I do use some relatives' first names. 

Of all the characters you have created, which is your favorite and why? 

Cynthia Clayton FBI Special Agent. 

What is the biggest surprise that you experienced after becoming a writer? 

People actually read my books, and some even like my style.

Is there any particular author or book that influenced you either growing up or as an adult? 

Alfred Hitchcock no one can craft a story like he did. I love his work. 

Do you have a day job in addition to being a writer? If so, what do you do during the day? 

Sometimes I work as a Chicago Actor. 

What is your favorite writing tip or quote? 

"Don't stop to correct just write" 

Tell us a little about your plans for the future. Do you have any other books in the works? 

I have my London Lunatic II to be released in Dec 2013; also Cynthia Clayton FBI Special Agent stars in two more short stories. 

Where can we find you online? 


Excerpt: 

Chapter 1
Molly:
The Second Victim

She was weak. Although she struggled and screamed she couldn't break the grip he had on her arm. For the first time in his life, Jonathan Walker felt like he had power over another human being. It was a heady, exciting experience that he wanted to draw out forever if he could. The thrill of this moment was nearly overwhelming. He had planned this so well, but he didn't really know what it would be like until now.

He pushed her against the wall of the dilapidated, deserted building that was destined to be razed for another renewal zone in London at the beginning of the 20th century. The new electric street lights softly lit up her face. She was young and frightened. Her body was so small that from a distance, she looked like she
might be eight, but upon closer inspection, the curves of her tiny frame convinced him that she might be 16 or 17.

She wore a skirt that ended above her knees – it almost looked like a swimming suit except that she didn't wear tights beneath it. She had on a lot of short petticoats, but they were designed to hold her indecent skirt out rather than help her gain modesty. Her blouse dipped down to show off plenty of cleavage that was partly covered by a mass of dark, tangled hair pulled forward to cascade down her shoulders. However, she was clean and seemed sober. That surprised him.

“Please, Mister,” she whimpered. “I'm doing' no harm to nobody. I'm just out to give a good time to anybody that wants it. Please, Mister, don't kill me?”

Her voice was soft. Not loud and brassy like he expected.

“Shut up.” He ordered

“Yes, Gov'ner. And I've got family. People who'll be looking for me” She added this piece of information hopefully, searching his face to see any sign that it made any difference.

It did. If he had felt any softness toward her at all, it disappeared in a rush of violent rage. He knew how she felt. He remembered all too well being tiny and helpless against a bigger human being. He, too, had sought to find words that might prevent the brutal blows that were about to rain down on him. Just like this whore, his words always seemed to have the opposite effect on the drunken adult who was assailing him. No matter how pathetically, or politely, or pleadingly he delivered his petition for forgiveness, he always managed to earn himself a harder beating than if he had just kept silent.

He tightened his grip on her thin forearm and shoved it above her head against the wall. Her breath was coming hard now, in apparent fear. “Please, Sir. I'm a good girl. As good as I can be. I live with me Mum Please sir, don't kill me for 'er sake.

“Please....” her appeal was abruptly interrupted by a high-pitched scream close at hand. He shoved his body against hers, still pinning her by her upraised arm with his left hand. He pressed his right hand hard against her mouth.

“Don't make a sound or I'll break yer neck,” he whispered urgently. Both of them had been so intent on each other that they had not noticed the carriage that had driven up out of the drizzle and fog and stopped within 100 feet of them. A well-dressed gentleman had alighted and helped out an obviously drunken older woman. As her feet hit the sidewalk, he had slapped her on the bottom, eliciting the scream that Jonathan and his captive had just heard.

“There, Flossy, see if you can stagger home from here. I've got to be going now, or I'm in big trouble.”

“Ya think yer new missus would be jealous to find out about old Flossy.” The woman demanded with her hands on her hips. She'd be thankin' me if she knew that it was I who taught ya ever thing ya knew about love.”

“You taught me nothing worth knowing, you old whore. And I won't have you in my carriage again unless you find your girl and bring her along. I can find better than you, Flossy.”

“Right, Mister Baxter. She thought she'd strike out on 'er own for a while, but I'll bring 'er back.”

“You may not Flossy. You may never find her.”

Flossy, turned on him weaving slightly. “And just what do ya mean by that, Mister Baxter? She'll come back. She always does. What do ya mean, she won't come back.”

“Now don't get excited, Flossy. I just meant you can't keep promising me your daughter when you haven't got her. You might do well to look for a different... uh.... assistant. And not that other old dried up drunk you're always palling with. I don't want her either.”

Flossy looked at him for a while. From the constantly changing look on her face, it was obvious that several emotions were fighting for the upper hand. She finally decided that it was best to use caution on an old customer.

“Well, ta ta till next time.” Flossy turned to stagger down the street. She was singing, “A twopence or a pound. It's all the same to me. I'll do me best for you sir. I'm the best, you'll see.”

She passed within feet of Jonathan and his victim. She was bent forward, singing her ditty and watching her dirty shoes slap on the pavement. Jonathan thought that with her long skirt and high-buttoned blouse, she was dressed more decently than his intended victim, but something about her aroused more disgust and loathing. Her loud voice and drunken amble excited a hatred in him, but he was not about to let go of the girl he had after she had had such a good, up close view of his face.

Molly watched the woman walk by with intense interest as well. It was almost as if she had forgotten the man who was threatening her life. She quivered a little as her eyes tracked the path of the singing drunk. Her lips moved as though she wanted to say something but she didn't try to make a sound.

“That's a good girl.” Jonathan spoke to her quietly as he took his hand from her mouth. “If ya are good, ya should last a long time.”

“Ya won't kill me then, yer Lordship?” the girl raised Jonathan's status to show respect.

“No. I'll take care of ya.” Jonathan sounded almost tender as he reached in his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief wrapped in oiled leather. He opened the cover and held the hankie against her nose and mouth. Within seconds her eyes rolled up in her head and the world turned black.

Jonathan held her beside him, trying to make it look like they were walking side by side as he slowly waddled back to his house a two blocks away. When he finally got to his row house he turned and pulled the girl up the two steps to the ground floor entrance. Further down the street sitting on the corner curb, a man with two deep scars on his face watched him. Although it was late May, the weather was still uncomfortably cool and the moisture in the air was too heavy to be described as a mist and now too light to be a drizzle. The man turned up his collar against the night chill but seemed to not notice that he had no hat. Jonathan saw the man looking at him and hoped that he looked like a customer bringing a drunken prostitute home. It was a ordinary scene in this neighborhood, but Jonathan was no ordinary-looking man.

The next morning, Jonathan went down to the basement to see his new guest. A moderate rain had started to fall. A heavy rain might have emptied the clouds and spent itself in a couple of hours; a light rain may have fizzled out from its own disinterest. But this moderate rain settled in and kept up the same pace for a two day. Although it fell steadily, it didn't take enough away from its parent cloud to keep it from blocking the sun.

Jonathan had been a virtual prisoner in the same basement room most of his life up until two days ago when he had killed his mother and taken her place as the sovereign of the apartment. He had had no contact with people that wasn't of the “victim/perpetrator” kind. So it seemed normal to him that his new family member take his place just as he had taken his mother's.

The headache that had pounded since he had beaten his mother to death had cleared and what his last step-father had described as “episodes” had passed. He would definitely keep this new girl as a companion as long as she was nice to him.

“Hello, Honeeee, I'm hoooome,” he called like his last daddy used to do when he came home. He opened the door to his old room and found his girl sitting on the floor staring in horror at his mother's body.

“This is me mum,” he said in a friendly way like anyone would when introducing a family member. “I killed 'er by accident a couple of days ago, and then didn't know what to do with 'er. I'll leave 'er down here as company for you until I can bring ya someone else.

“Please Mister. Please let me go. I'll do anything.”

“Oh no. You'll get to like it here. You'll get to like me. I'll take care of ya. What's yer name.”

“Molly... Me name is Molly. Maybe I can have something to eat?”

“I'll find you something later. I don't eat much meself.”

Indeed Jonathan had the stunted appearance of someone who had grown up without regular meals, but in this section of London, a lot of people looked like that.”

“Well, when you find something, will you share it with me?”

“Oh sure Molly. I'll go upstairs now and leave Mum and you alone.” Jonathan had been eager to make Molly's acquaintance, but when he was face to face with her, he felt just as eager to get away. He hadn't had many conversations with people. Maybe a couple with his last daddy, who had left about a year ago after only three or four months with the family. His last daddy had seemed so nice at first before he started acting crazy. He had told Jonathan's mother that a boy ought to have decent parents one time after he took away the strap she was beating Jonathan with. Jonathan liked that line but he thought it was a weird thing to say. His last daddy said and did a lot of strange things.

The rain lasted all day and then fell into a miserable sprinkle the following night. It picked back up the next day and then stopped at night. It was chilly and drippy though so Jonathan sat in his apartment, walking back and forth from the living room to the kitchen and occasionally going downstairs to fill the furnace with coal. 

He didn't go into Molly's room. He had everything under control. He was glad she was there, but he didn't have to go see about her all the time to enjoy her company.

Twice during those rainy days, he made himself a bread-and-butter sandwich from a moldy loaf that he found in a kitchen cabinet. That's what his mother would have done for him. The rest of the time, he ate nothing. He went to see Molly for a short time the second day after he got her, but she greeted him with a list of complaints, so he just shook his head and backed out the door.

He forgot that Molly said she was hungry. He did remember, though, that he had promised her a companion and as soon as the weather cleared he went out to find one.