The 7th Annual Puerto Vallarta Writers Conference by Theodore P Druch

A few weeks ago I posted an announcement about this Puerto Vallarta conference and I’m pleased to bring a report from its director, and regular Flash Fiction Fridays contributor, Theodore P Druch.

The 7th Annual Puerto Vallarta Writers Conference

The 7th Annual Puerto Vallarta Writers Conference was a success in spite of my losing two major presenters.

Two weeks before the conference, Mitchell Wieland, editor of the Idaho Review, one of the top literary magazines in the US, informed me that he had suffered a herniated disc and would not be attending.

A little fancy dancing and I managed to get the other presenters to take on a bit more to make up for it.

Then, one week before the conference, Jacquelyn Mitchard, the keynote speaker, informed me that she had to undergo surgery and would not be able to attend either.

Luckily, we have several other conference organizers in our group, and I was able to secure the services of Caleb Pirtle, author of 55 books and a successful Hollywood screenwriter. Together with James Strauss, also a successful screenwriter, they kept us in stitches.

William C. Gordon, an author of detective fiction, and married to Isabel Allende, was tapped for the keynote speech and several workshops.

Marie Beswick-Arthur, a local children’s author, took over the children’s and young adults workshop and did a marvelous job with the help of Erin Staley, another of our published authors.

Dan Grippo and Joy Eckel, also local members did a workshop on editing and structure that got the highest marks of all.

Another of our members, Eileen Obser who teaches creative writing at several colleges and universities in the New York area presented three workshops on writing memoirs and essays.

Joseph M. Staszak, a publisher who lives in Mexico City handled workshops on e-publishing, and Luis Cotto, a professional photographer was flitting around all over the place taking photos that he will be offering free to all the attendees.

In addition, we had two agents in attendance, Marcy Posner of Folio Literary Management of NYC, and Susan Crawford of the Crawford Literary Agency, so everyone who had a book to pitch got to pitch it twice.

Several of us have already been signed.

The highlight of the conference was the Sunday Book Fair during which all our authors got to sell their books while the crowd was held entranced by a Mexican Folk Dance troupe and Mariachis, and fed their faces from several local Mexican food vendors who put up their tables on the grounds of the beautiful Los Mangos library that hosted the Conference.

All in all, a huge success.

Thank you, Ted, I’m so glad it went well.

Born in Milwaukee, educated at Brandeis and later at the Timothy Leary commune in Millbrook, NY, Theodore P. Druch, Ted to his friends, spent most of his life in trivial pursuits – like making a living. After chucking it all and traveling around the world for ten years like a dandelion seed on the wind, he settled in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. He is an active member of the Puerto Vallarta Writer’s Group, and conducts a weekly workshop for serious authors. In the last two years, Ted has published four full-length non-fiction e-books, and is currently working on his first novel, a historical fantasy of 1492 called King David’s Harp. He fully expects it to be a blockbusting best-seller, filled as it is with pirates, adventurers, corrupt popes and priests, several heroes and heroines, and a search for clues to the hiding place of the harp of King David, the recovery of which might bring about the return of the Messiah.

Ted’s books are available at Amazon for the Kindle and at Smashwords for all other readers.

Footprints on a Small Planet is also available as a trade paperback through Amazon. Ted’s blog can be found at http://selfpublishedandbroke.wordpress.com and you can watch his African Odyssey trailer here.

You can also read some of Ted’s short stories on my Flash Fiction Fridays page. 🙂

If you would like to write a writing-related guest post for my blog then feel free to email me with an outline of what you would like to write about. If it’s writing-related then it’s highly likely I’d email back and say “yes please”.

The blog interviews return as normal tomorrow morning with novelist and autobiographer Leila Tavi  – the three hundred and seventeenth of my blog interviews with novelists, poets, short story authors, bloggers, autobiographers and more. A list of interviewees (blogged and scheduled) can be found here. If you like what you read, please do go and investigate further. And I enjoy hearing from readers of my blog; do either leave a comment on the relevant interview (the interviewees love to hear from you too!) and / or email me. You can also read / download my eBooks and free eShorts at Smashwords, Sony Reader Store, Barnes & Noble, iTunes Bookstore and Kobo. And I have a new forum at http://morgenbailey.freeforums.org.

The 7th Annual Puerto Vallarta Writers Conference, Mexico

One of my regular contributors*, Ted Druch, emailed me to say that he’s directing the next Writers Conference at Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. Sadly, I’m too far away but for anyone less geographically-challenged, here are the details:

The 7th Annual Puerto Vallarta Writers Conference will take place in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, from Feb. 24-26.  The conference theme is “Writing Well” with an emphasis on brevity and economy of expression.

Conference presenters are Jaquelyn Mitchard, author of The Deep End of the Ocean, the first novel chosen for Oprah Winfrey’s Book Club, and considered to be one of the 25 most influential books of the 20th century. Mitchard will deliver the Keynote Address, and will lead seminars and workshops.

James Strauss, successful Hollyood screenwriter, has written for projects as diverse as House and Deadwood. The Boy, his novel of prehistoric times is being filmed by Walt Disney Studios. He is currently working with the legendary Stan Lee on a new set of superhero graphic novels.

Mitchell Wieland is the editor of the Idaho Review, considered to be one of the best literary reviews in the US. He is a novelist, short story writer, and essayist.

William C. Gordon is a detective novelist, when he’s not practicing law, living in San Francisco with his wife, novelist Isabel Allende. His books have been published in 10 languages. Bi-lingual, he has had a distinguished career defending Hispanic Americans in labor disputes.

Eileen Obser is a member of the Puerto Vallarta Writers Group, though she spends most of her time on Long Island, NY, where she teaches Creative Writing at several colleges and Universities.

Daniel Grippo and Joy Eckel are long-time PV residents. Dan is a publisher and editor, and Joy edits professionally, having edited for many of our local authors. They will be co-leading a workshop on plot, structure, and editing.

Joseph Staszak is the Mexico City Director of ExLibris, an e-publication firm. He will be leading our Sunday sessions devoted to publishing and marketing.

Marcy Posner is a literary agent with Folio Literary Management of NYC. She will be holding private pitch sessions for those who have completed books.

Workshops will include plot and structure, narrative and description, dialogue, memoir and essay, editing, and writing for children and young adults.

The conference will take place at the spacious Los Mangos library, and after the final presentation, the library will be hosting an open  Book Fair with entertainment and book launchings, including works by local Mexican authors in Spanish. We hope to attract a large crowd from the surrounding community.

The cost is just $125 (or $110 if you book today, 31st Jan!). Information and enrollment forms can be found at www.pvwg.com and Ted’s blog is http://selfpublishedandbroke.wordpress.com (home to one of my favourite pictures :)).

*you can read everything Ted‘s done for me here: flash fiction no.4flash fiction no.10flash fiction no.18interviewpodcast s/s ep.002, ep.004. and ep.006.

Flash Fiction Friday 018: Theodore P. Druch’s ‘The Old Barn’

Welcome to Flash Fiction Friday and the eighteenth piece of flash fiction in this weekly series. Tonight Theodore P. Druch returns with a 411-worder entitled ‘The Old Barn’.

The old barn stood dying on the edge of the wheat field. It had been dying for a long time, almost as long as the wood of which it was made had been living. In a sense, it had lived two lives, and that’s more than most can hope for. But now it was coming to the end of its second, and there was no third to be had.

What boards of its sides were left unpillaged stood twisted, weathered, warped, and gnarled. Some had turned hard as rock, but bone thin in places. They would stand yet a long time, as the rest of the barn decayed apace.

Occasional patches of red paint could still be seen on sections that had remained, more or less, intact, but every windstorm tore off more and more of the crumbling flakes, and soon, it would be a featureless gray all over.

Its roof was mostly gone, only skeletal rafters poked through the many holes where the shingles had blown off. Several loose ones flapped in the wind.

Its old bones were getting rickety; the very hardness that had invaded them made them brittle and no longer able to bend as they had when young and green; they were in danger of breaking. Several had, as in one corner, where a falling hayloft had sent a sudden shock though a post and it had split neatly into two pieces, the one lying quietly below, waiting patiently for its widow, still dangling from the remains of the ruined loft, to join it in their final, silent journey into dust.

Dust that would blow away on the wind.

The old man stood dying on the edge of the wheat field.  He tried to remember what the barn had looked like when he’d been a boy and it had just been raised. He’d thought that it was beautiful then; and he thought that it was beautiful now, but with that awful sort of beauty that recognizes the inevitability of endings, no matter how perfect.

He had grown up and grown old with the barn, but the barn had never taken any notice of him.

The barn didn’t know that it was turning to dust.

Lucky barn. He thought, and moved on to contemplate the old oak, whose mostly leafless branches appealed in silent supplication to the uncaring sky.

The old man stood dying on the edge of the wheat field. Six months. He thought.

I asked Theodore what prompted this piece and he said…

I hold a weekly workshop for serious writers of the Puerto Vallarta Writer’s Group, and we usually begin with an impromptu writing exercise for five minutes. One of them was to describe a building. I wrote a description of an old barn. It was only later that the idea came to me to expand it into something more. It is interesting to note that some of the best writing was done on this kind of impromptu basis. An exercise like this doesn’t give one much time to think, so what flows from the pen is pretty much instinctual, and I think that the best writing always is. I have been consistently delighted at the high quality produced, often by people whose edited writing leaves something to be desired, The problem is to get writers to go with this instinct, and be very careful of wrecking it with excessive editing and second thoughts. People seem to have a basic distrust of their instincts, and that can ruin what might otherwise be a fine piece.

I totally agree. I run a workshop every other Monday night (usually three or four 10-15 minute exercises) and we come out with some corkers. Thank you Theodore. 🙂

Born in Milwaukee, educated at Brandeis and later at the Timothy Leary commune in Millbrook, NY, Theodore P. Druch, Ted to his friends, spent most of his life in trivial pursuits – like making a living. After chucking it all and traveling around the world for ten years like a dandelion seed on the wind, he settled in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. He is an active member of the Puerto Vallarta Writer’s Group, and conducts a weekly workshop for serious authors. In the last two years, Ted has published four full-length non-fiction e-books, and is currently working on his first novel, a historical fantasy of 1492 called King David’s Harp. He fully expects it to be a blockbusting best-seller, filled as it is with pirates, adventurers, corrupt popes and priests, several heroes and heroines, and a search for clues to the hiding place of the harp of King David, the recovery of which might bring about the return of the Messiah.

Ted’s books are available at Amazon for the Kindle and at Smashwords for all other readers.

Footprints on a Small Planet is also available as a trade paperback through Amazon. Ted’s blog can be found at http://selfpublishedandbroke.wordpress.com and you can watch his African Odyssey trailer here.

If you’d like to submit your 1,000-word max. stories for consideration for Flash Fiction Friday take a look here.

The blog interviews will return as normal tomorrow with multi-genre author Terri Morgan, the two hundred and fifty-fifth of my blog interviews with novelists, poets, short story authors, bloggers, autobiographers, agents, publishers and more. A list of interviewees (blogged and scheduled) can be found here. If you like what you read, please do go and investigate further. And I enjoy hearing from readers of my blog; do either leave a comment on the relevant interview (the interviewees love to hear from you too!) and / or email me. You can also read / download my eBooks and free eShorts at Smashwords.

Bailey’s Writing Tips podcast ‘short stories’ episode 002

Bailey’s Writing Tips podcast ‘short stories’ episode number 002 was released today.

This is a new series tucked in between the now-monthly hints & tips and red pen critique sessions and for the first weeks will include the flash fiction that appeared on this blog as ‘Flash Fiction Fridays’.

Because they’re short and, at the moment, I have plenty of them, I read out three per fortnight and today’s were ‘The Ruby Stradivarius’ (at 588 words) by Issy Flamel, ‘Horror story’ (986 words) by Theodore P. Druch and a 999 word ‘Lorna doomed’ by Phoebe Matthews – no critiquing, just simply reading them out and I hope you enjoy this new format.

    

You can read the full transcription of these stories as well as the author biographies on the Flash Fiction Fridays page but then that may spoil your enjoyment of the audio. 🙂

Next Monday’s episode should technically be hints and tips but as we have a holiday coming up (although I will likely keep these podcasts going, albeit a day or two late with Boxing Day falling on a Monday this year) I plan for the next episode to be a series of exercises, some easy, some less so, for you to complete during your time off work, assuming of course that you won’t be engrossed in all things family – maybe the exercises will be just the excuse you need to escape!

Thank you again for subscribing, downloading and listening to this episode and until the next time. As Issy’s characters would say “Auf wiedersehen”.

The podcast is available via iTunesGoogle’s FeedburnerPodbean (when it catches up), Podcasters (which takes even longer) or Podcast Alley (which doesn’t list the episodes but will let you subscribe).

Flash Fiction Friday 010: ‘Confession’ by Theodore P. Druch

Welcome to Flash Fiction Friday and the tenth piece of flash fiction in this new weekly series. Tonight Theodore P. Druch returns with a 968-worder entitled ‘Confession’.

I’m dead, and I know it. If I‘m lucky I’ll be gone in half-an-hour. If not, it could take eight or nine. The agony is intense, like burning brands. The slugs had gotten me right in the gut, and unless someone comes soon, there is no help. The rest of the platoon have been driven back down the hill, leaving me and Grayson behind. He’s past worrying about anything. There’s nothing on his shoulders to worry with. He’s lying about five yards off, and I can see the pistol lying near his bloody hand. Mine had been emptied in the fighting.

I look down at my blood-soaked blouse. Every few seconds fountains of red erupt – they are smaller now.

As quickly as the battle had begun, it ended. There was a sudden quiet except for the faraway shouts of the enemy as they routed the platoon. Then more shooting, followed by more silence. I don’t think anyone will be coming back for me anytime soon, and I’m not too fond of the idea of falling into Graak hands. They’ll most likely sit around eating, watching me die and laughing about it. They’ll even do their best to keep me around as long as possible. Dandor once told me that the only thing better than sex for a Graak is the sound of human agony.

I think about Janet and the kids and what a fool I’d been. I’d had it made, but greed drove me, and I wanted to retire at a higher pension.

“Just one more mission.” I told her, “and I’ll be back for good and we can live the high life.”

What a goddamn fool.

She’d begged me over and over to quit, but it fell on my deaf ears. As long as I can remember I’d wanted to be a Trooper. Whistling through space filled my dreams, and every waking moment was spent poring over any vid I could get my hands on. When I was finally old enough, I signed up.

Training was torture, and I loved every minute of it. I’d always wanted the brilliantly toned body of a Trooper, and the thought of finally going on a mission overrode my protesting muscles.

Women had never been much of a consideration, UTO girls were a credit a dozen and that satisfied me between missions. Then I met Janet, and for the first time in my life, I forgot all about the Troopers. For the first time it occurred to me that I wasn’t getting any younger. I couldn’t be a Trooper forever, but I had nothing else to fall back on. I was a self-contained killing-machine, but there was little call for that in civilian life. What work was available could get you locked up for good.

I convinced Janet that I was good enough at my job to stay alive. She resisted at first, but eventually she gave in and we were married. Then the kids came, and the house, and the credits I was pulling down were the only way to pay for it all.

The same old story, I guess.

It got to the point that being regularly separated from them overrode the satisfactions of my job, and I began to think about quitting. What the hell did I need this for, traipsing around the galaxy killing for political reasons that meant absolutely nothing to me, when I had a beautiful wife and good kids waiting for me whenever I got home.

The fantasies of my childhood, and the excitement of my first missions, eventually settled into a regular pattern of mad battles, blood-soaked corpses, and black, empty space. I was damned good at my job, but slowly, the satisfaction turned into boredom.

I began to kick myself for opting out of the Ed program when it was offered, but now it was too late to go back, and there was nothing else I could do. I held on until we wouldn’t have to worry about anything, ever again.

If I’d had any brains, I’d have chucked it all the first time we made love. Now, there‘s nothing left but me bleeding my life away on a planet whose name I can’t pronounce, fighting people I know nothing about. What an asshole.

Pain grips me and drives all other thoughts out of my head.

I look over at Grayson’s pistol lying uselessly on the ground. There’s my salvation – if I can get to it. A quick bullet in the brain would steal the Graak’s pleasure, but I figure they won’t take long to get back here.

I try to crawl over. Blinding pain, and I pass out.

I’m not out long, and I try again. Same results. I haven’t moved an inch. The five yards are looking like five miles, and I figure that I only have five minutes.

I try again, and this time I manage to roll over and get up on my knees before I pass out. Little by little, I drag myself towards what’s left of Grayson, struggling against the pain, trying to shut it out, but it’s hopeless. I just have to work through it and try to stay awake. That seems hopeless too. Crawling towards the pistol takes place between naps.

I hear voices approaching. The Graak are returning. I don’t have far to go, and with one last effort, I work through the agony and grab the pistol. I can hear the Graak laughing loudly. I figure I have seconds.

I lie down on the ground, and somehow, manage to drag the pistol up to my head just as the Graak burst into the clearing and catch sight of me, I squeeze the trigger.

Click!

Grayson had emptied his gun too.

I asked Ted what prompted this piece and he said…

The inspiration for Confession came to me after seeing Avatar. I am a big fan of flash fiction. It is one of the finest ways I know to hone your writing skills, and to write, ala Hemingway, the perfect sentence.

And you certainly have a way. Thank you, Ted. 🙂

Born in Milwaukee, educated at Brandeis and later at the Timothy Leary commune in Millbrook, NY, Theodore P. Druch, Ted to his friends, spent most of his life in trivial pursuits – like making a living. After chucking it all and traveling around the world for ten years like a dandelion seed on the wind, he settled in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. He is an active member of the Puerto Vallarta Writer’s Group, and conducts a weekly workshop for serious authors.

In the last two years, Ted has published four full-length non-fiction e-books, and is currently working on his first novel, a historical fantasy of 1492 called King David’s Harp. He fully expects it to be a blockbusting best-seller, filled as it is with pirates, adventurers, corrupt popes and priests, several heroes and heroines, and a search for clues to the hiding place of the harp of King David, the recovery of which might bring about the return of the Messiah.

Ted’s books are available at Amazon for the Kindle and at Smashwords for all other readers.

Footprints on a Small Planet is also available as a trade paperback through Amazon. Ted’s blog can be found at http://selfpublishedandbroke.wordpress.com and you can watch his African Odyssey trailer here.

If you’d like to submit your 1,000-word max. stories for consideration for Flash Fiction Friday take a look here. The blog interviews will return as normal tomorrow with humorous romance novelist Carole Matthews – the one hundred and ninety-ninth of my blog interviews with novelists, poets, short story authors, bloggers, biographers, agents, publishers and more. A list of interviewees (blogged and scheduled) can be found here. If you like what you read, please do go and investigate further. And I enjoy hearing from readers of my blog; do either leave a comment on the relevant interview (my guests love to hear from you too!) and / or email me. You can also read / download my eBooks and free eShorts at Smashwords (Amazon to follow).

Flash Fiction Friday 004: Theodore P. Druch’s ‘Horror story’

Welcome to Flash Fiction Friday and the fourth piece of flash fiction in this new weekly series. This week’s piece is a 986-worder entitled ‘Horror story’ by Theodore P. Druch.

Horror Story

It never occurred to me that I might actually kill her.

This was never a plan, yet here she is, lying dead in a pool of blood. There she is, I should say. I can’t look at her. The sight makes me gag.

I can’t believe that I actually did it. It just doesn’t seem real somehow. That can’t really be her, and this can’t really be me standing here holding a knife in my hand with no idea at all about what to do next.

Maybe, if I close my eyes, it will all go away.

Nope.

She’s still there. I can just see her feet if I look down.

The knife is still in my hand, too.

Time for plan B.

I didn’t even have a Plan A.

No. I must have dreamed it. It can’t be real.

But it is. I can’t deny it.

Her feet tell the truth, and those disgusting slippers she wouldn’t throw away. Her big toe is protruding through the tear in the threadbare fabric. It’s even more disgusting than her whole body, which I will not look at.

I won’t.

Not that I’m sorry, it’s just that it was never supposed to happen, and I haven’t a clue as to what to do next.

I’d never thought about it. It wasn’t supposed to happen.

I already said that, didn’t I?

But it did.

Crap!

Now what?

Strange. I don’t feel any panic, or anything. Just numbness.

And impotence.

The rage is gone. I can’t even remember it.

Now what?

I think that I should feel something. Relief? Fear? Sorrow? Remorse? Joy?

Nope. Just numbness. I even have to look down to make sure I’m still holding the knife.

I can’t feel it. I can’t even feel the floor beneath my feet.

My mind feels numb too. It refuses to think beyond the scene.

Now what?

This can’t have happened.

I said that, didn’t I?

I’m numb.

Strange. I think I should feel something.

Shouldn’t I?

I don’t though.

I try to remember when it happened.

It feels like a long time ago. I can’t connect me standing here holding a bloody knife to anything in the recent past.

It doesn’t seem possible that she was standing here less than a minute ago.

It can’t have been more than a minute, so why does it seem like years?

Like I’m remembering a scene out of the past. Like I’ve been living with this memory for a long time.

How can that be? The minute hand on the clock hasn’t even moved to the next mark.

Maybe it will never get there, and I’ll just stand here forever, holding a bloody knife, standing over Blanche’s disgusting dead body, unable to feel the floor.

Maybe time will stop, and I won’t have to do anything.

Except stand here over Blanche’s dead body with a knife in my hand.

Maybe it’s I’m the one who’s dead, and this is Hell.

It feels like Hell.

Blanche certainly looks like hell.

Why am I laughing?

She always did look like hell.

I can barely remember a time when I didn’t hate her.

I never thought about killing her. I never planned it.

So why am I standing over Blanche’s disgusting dead body holding a knife in my hand, unable to feel anything?

I don’t even feel like laughing any more.

Did the minute hand move?

God, I hope not.

Why didn’t I just walk away years ago?

I thought about it.

I don’t know why. I just didn’t.

I really never thought about killing her.

Did I?

I can’t remember now. She’s dead. It doesn’t matter.

Does it?

I try to remember what it was like a long time ago – when she was alive. All I can remember are her disgusting slippers, her disgusting bathrobe, and that ridiculous, disgusting bun on the top of her head.

That’s all I can remember about Blanche.

I don’t want to remember anything more.

Her nagging!

Now I remember her constant nagging.

That reminds me of her voice.

I’d rather forget.

She’s dead now. I can forget now.

So why am I remembering?

“Take out the garbage.”

“Wash the dishes.”

“Why can’t you clean up after yourself?”

“Why can’t you make more money?”

The memories echo in my head, banging into each other, merging and blending into one long nag.

Subject unimportant.

Just a nag.

I shake my head.

The echoes die away.

The clock has advanced another minute.

Shit!

Now what?

Maybe I’ll just walk away.

And keep walking.

That sounds like a plan.

I could walk forever.

First I have to feel my feet.

Strange.

They’re working. I still can’t feel them but I’m floating towards the front door.

It’s open.

Didn’t I close it behind me?

I can’t remember.

Oh well.

I float out the door, along the front walk, and out onto the sidewalk.

I still can’t feel my feet.

I float towards the corner.

I see Mrs. Crabtree coming around the block.

She smiles when she sees me.

Now she’s screaming.

Why is she screaming?

Why is she pointing? What is she pointing at?

I look down.

I’m still holding the bloody kitchen knife.

I can see that my shirt is all red too.

Mrs. Crabtree is still screaming.

It hurts my ears.

Why doesn’t she stop?

I see people coming out their front doors.

They must have heard the screams.

I don’t think I can float anymore.

I sit down on the sidewalk.

The knife is still in my hand.

I still can’t feel it so I can’t even let it go.

I think time has stopped now.

A million years later, I hear the sound of sirens.

Maybe somebody is sick.

Now I remember Blanche’s nagging.

Now I remember Blanche is dead.

I remember now.

I killed her.

I suppose the cops are wondering why I’m laughing so hard.

So am I.

I asked Ted what prompted this piece and he said…

The inspiration for Horror Story came from an essay I wrote about the good old days, in which I remembered an incident in which the man across the street hacked his wife to death. I can still remember his totally blank expression as he was hustled into a police car, and I wondered what he might be thinking.

And now we know. Thank you Ted. 🙂

Born in Milwaukee, educated at Brandeis and later at the Timothy Leary commune in Millbrook, NY, Theodore P. Druch, Ted to his friends, spent most of his life in trivial pursuits – like making a living. After chucking it all and traveling around the world for ten years like a dandelion seed on the wind, he settled in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. He is an active member of the Puerto Vallarta Writer’s Group, and conducts a weekly workshop for serious authors.

In the last two years, Ted has published four full-length non-fiction e-books, and is currently working on his first novel, a historical fantasy of 1492 called King David’s Harp. He fully expects it to be a blockbusting best-seller, filled as it is with pirates, adventurers, corrupt popes and priests, several heroes and heroines, and a search for clues to the hiding place of the harp of King David, the recovery of which might bring about the return of the Messiah.

Ted’s books are available at Amazon for the Kindle and at Smashwords for all other readers.

Footprints on a Small Planet is also available as a trade paperback through Amazon.

Ted’s blog can be found at http://selfpublishedandbroke.wordpress.com and you can watch his African Odyssey trailer here.

If you’d like to submit your 1,000-word max. stories for consideration for Flash Fiction Friday take a look here.