The End Is Near, Update and Excerpt

I knew it was time to let the book go to the printer when I started changing the title. I kept it long enough to move the release date from 9/28/10 to a Tuesday (undetermined) in October.

Here’s the front cover at left, plus another excerpt below. You’ll find the full printer’s proof of the cover design at the bottom.

Now, I can start tinkering with the website. Hey, we’re getting there.

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June 22nd, early am

I wasn’t going to do this. Leave a suicide note.

People in my position, in extremis, as it were, often delude themselves with the notion that they have something special—or necessary—to impart, at the end. As if the last moments of life were some grand stage and the mere proximity of death might confer some great wisdom.

But what is there to say, really? Not much, in most cases. Why am I killing myself? For the same reason anyone does, I guess. The less said, the better.

Tonight, though, that changed. My simple suicide has become a murder-suicide. Before I kill myself, I’m going to confront Randy Trent with his crimes of long ago. Then I’m going to kill him. I may torment him a bit in the days leading up to that confrontation.

That’s why I’m writing this tonight, instead of being dead. That’s why you’re reading this.
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The End Is Near

Where have I been?

Completing the multitude of tasks, large and small, that attend the approach of a new book’s release date. The jacket needs work; the website needs work; proofs must be read and re-read; reviews must be sought.

Sample chapters are usually a buzzkill on a blog, but here’s Chapter One anyway. Eventually this and a few more chapters will be up at EbbPress.com.

Everything’s finalized; “The End Is Near” will be out the last week of September.

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The End Is Near

Chapter One


The first Angel of Death came to me on my seventh day here.

My seventh conscious day, I should say.

I woke from a sweaty, haunted nap and there she was, sitting in the wooden chair by the door.

Napping is most of what I do here at the Hudson Maxim Long-Term Care and Rehabilitation Unit, since I emerged from five weeks of coma, minus my jaw and a lot of my face, my head a beanbag of buckshot. Napping and filling one notepad after another with hastily scribbled replies and requests.

“Well! Hi there!” the Angel of Death said.
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