Ever since I was a kid, there was a genre that made
me wince. When I first started writing I swore up and down that I would never
go there because the premise just freaked me out so completely. I could handle
a lot of dark plot twists, but there was something about demons that just made
my brain freeze and my hands sweat. I don’t know if because it’s somewhat
plausible or if it goes back to a very human fear of the unknown, but it’s
there.
Needless to say, making demons and a deal with a
devil-like figure in my first novel, In
the Red, was a bit of a shock. Maybe it was because a lot of the themes of
the book found their start in my love of fairy tales; maybe I grew more
comfortable with the concept through my love of urban fantasy. I’m not sure
what happened, but I suddenly found myself knee-deep in Hellish characters that
were intent on tempting human prey to join them…and the dark side in the human
lead who was intent on keeping up with them.
In the book, Jeremiah Kensington unknowingly trades
a lot for a chance at fame, and eagerly takes lessons from his band mates (who
may or may not be human). At one point he conceals himself behind the persona
of J.K. Asmodeus, and markets himself as the ultimate sinner, the corrupter of
the masses, and a demon in human flesh. It’s not a new concept. Everyone has a
little evil inside them, and a lot of theatrical rockers have used similar
campaigns. For Jeremiah, though, it was not only an interesting plot twist, but
a fascinating metaphor. The root of demon means “to show,” yet he was using
that kind of persona to hide behind. In a lot of ways, his character was pretty
bland and childish before he took on the persona. It wasn’t until he survives
his rock n’ roll fantasy and realizes he has to make a choice that he actually
starts to become a real person.
In a lot of ways, once I worked past my own
trepidation of the unknown, I found that I could use my demons as a comparison
to Jeremiah. He ends up having more of a fuller journey where they’re stuck
whining about all that they want and don’t have. They may be aggressive,
manipulative, and play the bad boy image to the hilt, but at the end of the day
they’re limited because they’ve traded in their humanity for a sure thing.
Jeremiah may have his irritating points (and he definitely has them), but he, at
least, gets the opportunity to have them flung in his face and learn from them.
He gets to see the very worst version of himself and what it really looks like,
which may come as something as a surprise, since it’s also buried deep in what
he thought he wanted most. Yet by then, he can see clearly. He can hear the
music that he loves so much, and though he’s terrified, he has more of a chance
against these otherworldly creatures than he did going in. He’s not the whiney
little boy who will follow anyone’s lead as long as it gets him what he wants.
He’s willing to admit that he loves things and people, and will stand up for
them, even if it’s not easy. In a lot of ways he has to succumb to the darkness to have a hope of getting to the
light that waits beyond.
So am I still afraid of the concept of demons? Not
in writing. I’ll admit that possession movies and literature don’t thrill me,
and the whole thing still unnerves me, but that’s good in a way. The concept
does what it’s supposed to do: it shows us that there’s a part of all of us
that is totally removed from what we’re supposed to be. It warns us not to
become those things, to not be ashamed of our own humanity, to not want some
things so badly that we’ll do anything for them. It’s a terrifying concept, a
brilliant metaphor, and a type of character that I’m glad I finally got a
chance to explore.
Live like a rock star.
Dance ‘til you die.
Are you in?
Blurb
What kind of a rock star lives in a small town in
the middle of nowhere and plays at weddings and funerals? That’s what Jeremiah
Kensington is thinking after an unsuccessful bar gig one night. Then Jack
Scratch comes into his life, ready to represent him and launch him to stardom.
Jack can give him everything: a new band, a new name, a new life, a new look,
and new boots…although they aren’t exactly new. They once belonged to The One,
a rocker so legendary and so mysterious that it’s urban legend that he used
black magic to gain success. But what does Jeremiah care about urban legend?
And it’s probably just coincidence that the shoes make him dance better than
anyone, even if it doesn’t always feel like he’s controlling his movements.
It’s no big deal that he plunges into a world of excess and decadence as soon
as he puts the shoes on his feet, right?
But
what happens when they refuse to come off?
Excerpt
They’re mine. I’m really holding them, Jeremiah realized. I’m
holding history that isn’t supposed to exist. When The One took the stage,
any competition turned tail and ran. It was said that the one time the singer
revealed what he looked like the crowds were moved to tears by his beauty and
sophistication, and tore each other apart because they couldn’t get to him.
Some said it was a conspiracy that complete copies of his songs didn’t exist
because the music was too potent to release to the public. There were people
who still worshipped the mystery, the music, the outfits, and the boots.
And now those people would come to
him.
“Go on. Try them on,” Jack
encouraged. Jeremiah nodded and carefully put the platforms on the floor.
Shaking with nerves, the youth sat and guided his feet into the cherry red
sheaths. Electricity crackled along his instep and through his toes. He tugged
the vinyl up over his calf and gasped. Jeremiah was overtaken by a sudden burn,
a sudden ant-crawling of power that worked its way through his skin and into
his very soul.
“What the—” he choked. The plastic
spasmed, tightened around his foot, and then relaxed. The left boot stretched
itself a little higher up his calf and extended its sole and heel a little more
to adapt to his needs. Jeremiah thought he had imagined it, but the right boot
immediately followed suit. The matching sets of the laces squirmed and rippled,
settling into a slightly different pattern than when they were taken out of
their box. A quick look around proved that while everyone in the room was
looking, Jack was the only other person that actually saw. “Did they just…?” Jeremiah couldn’t bring himself to say
something so bizarre. He barely managed to hold back a cry when a thousand tiny
needle teeth nibbled his skin from toes to knees. A tingling sensation spread
under his skin and Jeremiah was filled with a rush of violent confidence that
almost made him swoon.
“Good. They fit,” Jack said. Only
his tiny, mysteriously cruel little smile hinted that he was aware of the
boots’ strange behavior.
The longer Jeremiah looked at
himself the more he realized that he could do no wrong. My life just changed. With
these on my feet, my past is gone. I’m going to be better than I ever thought
possible.
All around him the yes-men and
hangers-on gaped.
“You look so good!” the store
footman practically swooned. His vinyl and lace frock coat danced under the
fluttering movements of his hands. His sharp, pale face flushed with excitement
underneath the stylized Victorian wig.
“I’m gonna cry you look so good!”
the blonde assistant squealed, gripping Jack’s knee as if she’d keel over if
she didn’t have it there to support her. “It’s like I’m witnessing history!”
The faces that surround him were
positively thunderstruck and at his mercy. The camera kept right on clicking.
Jeremiah got to his feet and struck a few more ambitious poses, dropping into a
low crouch before kicking a leg up in an insane bastardization of a round kick. It didn’t matter that he’d grown up looking
like every other average guy in Middle America. It didn’t matter that he’d been
more accustomed to cotton T-shirts and washed-out blue jeans than the clothes
Jack had him wearing. The overall look wasn’t complete, but the boots pulled
everything together. The added height evened out his lanky proportions. In some
unlikely way the platforms made his stubble-sporting, angular face look
downright exotic. His eyes blazed liquid brown heat and his dishwater hair almost
glowed under the dressing room lights.
Jeremiah sashayed around the tiny
space and leapt onto the low podium at the room’s center, full of a burning
drive to do something. He wanted to
sing. He wanted to rock. He wanted to dance,
and he’d never had that sort of urge before in his life. Every school dance
he’d ever gone to had involved him either playing in the band or drinking
contraband beverages with his friends outside the building. “Guess I’m a
natural!” he laughed. He knew he was lying, Jack knew he was lying, but there
was no reason for anyone else to know the truth. Why bother with the truth when
the image in the mirror was so much better?
He had expected his balance to be
shaky in the tall platforms, but it was like the boots were built for him. He
hadn't thought to check the size. Maybe The One wasn't the original owner;
maybe they conformed to whoever wore them. Jeremiah’s face glowed when he
looked at his mirror image. His reflection looked as giddy and ecstatic as he
felt. Why do I care what they are? If
they work, they work! His eyes dropped to the new footwear. He was just
able to see the tiny, warped image of his face in the shiny toes. Everything’s going to be amazing from now
on. As he admired his distorted image via his feet, all of his hang-ups and personality drained
out of him. Who needs a personality with
boots like these?
Jack Scratch watched his protégé
glided round the room, that same tiny, dangerous smile just barely curling his
full mouth. "Just think. What you have on represents everything that you
want to be," he coached. His words drilled through the rocker's ears and
hardwired themselves into the deepest parts of Jeremiah’s heart and soul.
"They’re everything you want on your side. These boots are temptation and
chaos, just like you. I've got it," he declared. "I've got your
name."
"Give it to me," a raspy
voice in front of the mirror breathed.
"Forget Jeremiah Kensington:
folk singer, blue jean rocker, country boy, small town loser,” Jack breathed,
his giant hands fervently patting down his front until he found which jacket
pocket his cigarettes were hidden in. It was amazing that he didn’t gouge
himself in the chest given the sharpened tip of the massive silver ring that
enveloped his right forefinger. The manager leaned back against the sofa and
lit up, never once taking his eyes off his new golden boy and meal ticket.
“From now on you are J.K. Asmodeus, rock star and corrupter of the
masses." A thin plume of smoke stretched up to frame his intense
expression.
J.K. looked from Jack to the man in
the mirror, saw how the red glitter of the boots was echoed in his eyes.
"Yes."
The two ignored the gasps and
commentary around them as everyone texted photos and alerted the necessary
paparazzi. The pair shared a slow smile as Jack inhaled another draw of
nicotine. “It’s time to sign,” he murmured. The smoke crept in front of his
face and turned his pleased expression into something that bordered on
animalistic. He removed the top sheet of the stack he’d been examining and held
it out to the younger man.
I should wait and consult a lawyer. I should take my time.
These things need to be done with care, a
distant echo of a Midwestern conscience chided. J.K. ignored it, grinned back
at his manager, and reached for the fountain pen the manager handed him. His
expression was almost as malevolent as Jack’s, though there were still traces
of wholesomeness that had yet to drain away. “Let’s do it.”
Available
in Various E-Book Formats at the Following Places:
No Boundaries Press Store (various formats):
Amazon:
Barnes
and Noble:
Author Bio:
Selah Janel has been blessed with a
giant imagination since she was little and convinced that fairies lived in the
nearby state park or vampires hid in the abandoned barns outside of town. Her
appreciation for a good story was enhanced by a love of reading, the many talented
storytellers that surrounded her, and a healthy curiosity for everything. A
talent for warping everything she learned didn’t hurt, either. She gravitates
to writing fantasy and horror, but can be convinced to pursue any genre if the
idea is good enough. Often her stories feature the unknown creeping into the
“real” world and she loves to find the magical in the mundane.
She has four e-books with No Boundaries Press,
including the historical vampire story ‘Mooner’ and the contemporary short ‘The
Other Man’. Her work has also been
included in ‘The MacGuffin’, ‘The Realm Beyond’, ‘Stories for Children
Magazine’, and the upcoming Wicked East Press anthology ‘Bedtime Stories for
Girls’. She likes her music to rock, her vampires lethal, her fairies to play
mind games, and her princesses to hold their own.
Amazon Author Page
- http://www.amazon.com/Selah-Janel/e/B0074DKC9K/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1346815995&sr=1-2-ent
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