Wednesday, October 31, 2012

Winners Of The October Flash Fiction Contest

"Congratulations. Ready for your prizes?"

1st Place 

2nd Place

3rd Place

  • 1st five pages manuscript critique (by either Ian Hall, Veronica Roxby Jorden, or Lindsey R. Loucks)
  • 4 issues of Trembles Horror Magazine (epub or mobi, (donated by Gregory Thompson)

Thanks so much to everyone who submitted AND commented! Without all of you, I'd just be talking to myself on here, which isn't that different from real life, but makes me seem a lot less crazy. I hope you'll come back for author interviews and other fun stuff during November AND a Christmas Flash Fiction contest in December. ~Mysti

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

News You Can Use!

Hurricane Sandy is bringing us gusty winds and rain here in our part of KY. While I keep those who have been terribly affected by this storm in my prayers, I figure we might as well celebrate some good things coming up here on Unwritten. Over the course of the next few days and weeks, you will see:

The winners have been chosen and will be announced tomorrow, on Halloween. We had a total of 12 unique spooky tales, and three of those writers will come away with some nice prizes. See the prize list here:

I'm having a book party!!! Local mom and businesswoman Stephanie Vittitoe is a consultant for Usborne Books and More, a great company that caters to the reading needs of children from babies to middle grade. I'm hosting an online book party from November 1-14, where you can find some wonderful books for the kids in your life. Books make great Christmas gifts, you know! They don't even need batteries. To place your order (and there are a lot of good specials happening), click here:

Christmas Lites II Cover Reveal

I'm so honored to be part of this great anthology of Christmas-themed short stories! Just like last year's Christmas Lites, all proceeds will be going to the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence (NCADV). Last year, we raised $500 from the sales for this charity, and I'd love to see that number go way up this year. November 1, we'll be revealing the cover, blurb, and a list of all the authors participating. The books will go on sale November 26 (cyber Monday), so be sure to put these on your Christmas list!! To learn more about the NCADV and how they help women and children, please visit their website:

Author Interviews & Promotions

Stay tuned for many more interviews, excerpts, and giveaways from authors of all sorts of genres. One of my favorite things to do besides writing is to support other writers, so your comments and participation in their posts here are greatly appreciated!!! While I work on whittling down my upcoming interview list, if you would like to schedule an interview or promotion of any kind for 2013, I can start scheduling those. Just send an email to mystiparker (at) yahoo (dot) com and we'll get you set up.

That's right--another contest! I'm announcing it early to give you plenty of time to for your Christmas storytelling muse to go to work. Look for an OFFICIAL post with all the rules, etc. very soon, but the guidelines will be similar to the last contest. I'll take any Christmas-themed story (no profanity or erotica please), up to 1,000 words. Prizes TBD. Stories can be sent to: mystiparker (at) yahoo (dot) com with CFF in the subject line. Along with your stories, I want every entrant to send a short bio, profile picture, and any contact links. Now, think jingle bells and Batman smells, and get to writing!

Friday, October 26, 2012

October Flash Fiction #12

Nimal Eshwar

Dr. Bishop sat on his couch sipping coffee, thinking about the recent brutal murder of his team member. They’d been part of Central Genetics Organization’s Special Research Operation. He was punished barbarically, till death. The image of it made him shiver. The murderer, named Slain, had a message for Dr. Bishop “I will Find you” written in blood. He couldn’t oppose the trueness of that message; somehow Slain is going to find him. He tried to stay positive as much as possible. But at times like this, he couldn’t help himself. He knew he won’t stand a chance facing a savage evil.
His consciousness came to reality as the light went out in the hallway. Not again. He checked his watch, it was 10 past 8. The heavy downpour outside slowed to slight drizzle, he decided to go to the Electric room next to the Garage outside. He jumped into his coat and went outside with torchlight in his hand. As he passed the garage, he heard a thud near the lawn. He turned his light towards the sound but there was nothing. A light screeching noise near the fence made his hairs prick and even in that chill weather beads of precipitation started to form on his temple. He slowly wiped his sweat and continued to move towards the noise. His heartbeat rose with every step, the alienating fear of what lay ahead shriveled his body. He turned the light slightly downwards and the shadow of the monstrous beast clawing its prey on the fence startled him. He fell on the ground, torch slipping away from his hand. He breathed heavily in fear. The torch rolled towards the fence revealing a closer view of the beast, which was nothing but a fat cat munching its dinner. Bishop smiled sheepishly at how the recent events made him feel copiously unsafe.
After fixing the electric switch, he came back to check the lights. The lights were fixed perfectly. With satisfaction of the work he turned towards the couch. The door was ajar “I did lock the door, weird”. He heard the same screeching noise from the hallway. Horror struck him like a lonely locomotive.
He yelled in a shaky tone “Who’s there?”
There was no response but the screeching became audible. A black hooded silhouette came through the hallway with footsteps as calm as the dead. Like a child’s painting, the loosely flowing robes smeared the floor with blood that oozed from its body. It held a long shiny sword that dug through the wall as it glided. “It’s Slain,” Bishop fell on his knees, unable to think of the evil he had to encounter. He slowly crawled behind the couch. The Crimson Red eyes of Slain searched for its prey keenly. Bishop’s body started to tremble. He covered his mouth to deaden his echoing exhalations and continued to crawl towards the drawing room as the stair case barricaded Slain’s view.
A raspy voice questioned him “How are you doctor? Remember Me?”
Slain jumped from the staircase and stood before him. Dumbstruck, he looked up to witness the monster up close in person. Slain licked the swords with an evil laugh that rang through the house. Bishop jerked to his feet and ran towards the kitchen. He panted and switched off the lights. He took a knife from the tray and stood behind the door. But fear dominated his anxiety to know the reason behind Slain’s hunting. He was drenched with sweat. A shadow approaching the door halted his breathing. Slain cut through the door and guided his head through the hole.
The fleshy face was covered with black mask, but there was blood oozing all around its mask.
“Gotcha Doctor”, his shouting sprayed blood on his face
“Eat this”, with a loud shout Bishop pierced the knife into Slain’s head. But to his horror it didn’t pierce its head. With a heavy push Slain tried to open to door, in that fraction of moment Bishop tried to veer towards the cupboard. But the sheer power of Slain rammed him to the floor.
Slain walked towards him slowly, like a beast stalking its prey
“What… What do you want from me?”
“It’s you doctor, you of all men, YOU”
Bishop moaned in pain as Slain drove the sword into his right ankle.
 “Why… Why, why are you doing this?” yelled bishop in unbearable pain
“GOD” shouted Slain. He was stunned to hear that word. It still hung in front of his face.
“Inveraity? You aren’t dead?” exclaimed Bishop raising his head
“No, you maggot, but I’m dying everyday”
Slain kicked his chest and the power of his blow bounced his head on the floor. Bishop felt dizzy and bleeding from his head.
“I don’t go by that name, I Call myself SLAIN”
He still couldn’t believe what he had heard. Operation G.O.D-Genetics over Dynamics was initiated to create a super human with a team of 4 members headed by him. The subject William Inverarity was tested with the drug, which resulted in uneven distribution of cells and death of the subject. They‘d closed this project because of that failure and the subject’s body was buried near a lake. This had been a confidential operation that had no approval from the government, as it involved human testing. William Inverarity a fit young man accepted to be a subject because of his financial position. His involvement was kept confidential.
Slain pulled the sword from Bishop’s ankle. Bishop groaned in pain, Slain positioned him on his knees.
His heart sank in fear at the thought of Slain’s previous murders. I don’t wanna die.
“I had Family, Friends and Life. You ruined all that” whispered Slain at his face
He placed the blade in his neck and cut him fiercely “No one plays GOD except GOD himself”


My name is Nimal and I’m a budding writer. I am 27 years old. I like to read and write. This is my first competition. Dramas are my go-to writing. But this is my first time experience on horror writing. Hope this one goes well.

Thursday, October 25, 2012

October Flash Fiction #11

Mark Glamack

The mountain settles into a deafening quiet for a moment, but
shakes again, this time with the ominous sounds of heavy footsteps.
Everyone backs farther away from the entrance as smoke and then
fire appear ahead of the Goblins up the path. But these flames are rising
away from the entrance from inside of a rock ledge that extends out
over the mountain.

The fire whirls around and then explodes outward,
revealing The Necromancer’s distinctive form as he faces the cavern’s
entrance. The Book of Darkness materializes in his hands. He slips The
Book into a large pocket on the inside of his robe, then settles, standing
erect as he stares at the dark entrance to the cavern.

The heavy footsteps of Dragon stop, and again all is quiet until
The Necromancer softly commands, “Dragon, come forth.”

All is deathly silent and still. Suddenly, an explosion of fire jets
out of the cavern entrance engulfing The Necromancer in flames.

The Goblins panic, running as they retreat farther down the path.
The Necromancer remains omnipotent with only his robe fluttering
backward from the force of the blast, and then it settles as the flames
disperse. The Necromancer remains still as he once again summons

“Come to me,” The Necromancer commands again, waiting for
Dragon to show himself.

The six Masters of the dark arts, now at a safe distance, are startled,
astonished and impressed by what they have just witnessed. None of
them possesses powers anywhere close to being able to arrive in such
a manner, let alone survive such a blast of fire. And now, to see him
standing before Dragon unprotected, vulnerable to the serpent’s deadly
size and strength, leaves them all speechless. Gar turns, glancing back to
the others, whispering, “What’s happening here?”

Eyes bulging, Stickle whispers to himself, “He is truly the One.”

The Necromancer continues to wait as he once again says with a
calm, soft, raspy voice that builds to a loud command, “Come to ME!”

The sound of discharging steam echoes from inside the cavern and
then fades into complete quiet.

Everyone waits.

The silence ends in rage as Dragon bursts forth from the entrance, charging straight for The
Necromancer. The Necromancer extends his staff toward Dragon and
just before the serpent crashes into him, he whispers the words, “Ictus
Petiteum.” Magic explodes from his staff and, in one big “POOF!”

Dragon is reduced to six inches in size.

Shocked, the tiny Dragon bounces off The Necromancer’s body,
hovering in front of him, frantically flapping its wings. The Necromancer
extends his left hand forward slowly turning his palm upward. Dragon
continues fluttering his wings wildly as he floats down and lands on The
Evil One’s left hand.

“That’s better, Dragon,” he says, looking down at a now helpless
winged lizard. He pets the tiny reptile with his thumb as the six
Masters begin to slowly back away. Without so much as a glance, The
Necromancer says softly, “Where are you going?”

The six stop in their tracks as Ingram nonchalantly shrugs his
shoulders. “Nowhere,” he shivers, cracking a half-twisted smile.
“That’s good. You would have missed the best part,”
Necromancer purrs and then commands, “Bounty, et interment et lair.”

While still thumb-petting the lizard Dragon, he motions his staff toward
the wagons, and magic whooshes from the staff to the first treasure
wagon, following to each of the other wagons until the entire bounty
glows with a putrid green mist.

The Necromancer continues to pet his lizard as the treasure magically
rises from the wagons and zooms into the large cavern, shooting over
an abyss and its crisscrossing labyrinth of paths, nosediving down
another abyss, disappearing into the blackness below.

Distant sounds of his treasure crashing below are heard reverberating from the cavern.

The Evil One begins walking toward the entrance of the cavern as
he says to the lizard, “Come, little one…I’ll show you your new home,”
when suddenly he’s distracted. The Necromancer stops, turning to his
six servants. Derodimy is trying to hold his robe down from bulging
and jerking around. He pushes hard against the robe reducing its

“Derodimy,” The Necromancer asks curiously, “What do you have

Derodimy is silent and with a guilty smile, shrugs his shoulders,
which relaxes the hold he had on his robe. The Golden Fife zips out of
his robe and zooms over to the entrance of the cavern. In a flash, The
Necromancer grabs onto it, stopping its flight in midair. The lizard is
flattened, but really only dazed, from under the weight of the Fife. He
slowly opens his hand while the lizard squirms from under the weight
of the Dwarves’ golden artifact.


“Oh, now see what the bad magician has done,” he sighs facetiously
and then closes his hand over the lizard and the Fife. The Necromancer
then turns his attention to his learned servants.

“You would steal from Me!” he roars while staring them down.

“It wasn’t like that, Master. It’s just a little bauble. It’s nothing. Would
you deprive us this little thing…a little something for your teachers?”

The Necromancer stands motionless for a moment, then changes
his tone, softly saying, “Perhaps you’re right. Come ― I have something
I want to show you.” The six exchange glances among themselves and
then walk over to their Master.

“Hang onto your wits,” he tells them and then shouts out,
“Ehportsatacue,” slamming his staff onto the path.

Fire surrounds them and in a flash they all disappear in a puff of
smoke. The Goblins look on in bewilderment, but soon crack evil smiles
of sadistic pleasure in anticipation of what the Master may do next.

By way of introduction my professional history includes director, producer, and writer for family entertainment in the motion picture and television industries; a patented inventor; elected to six terms as a Governor for the Academy of Television Arts & Sciences, and now author of the award winning "Littluns: And the Book of Darkness." My full bio can be found at
You can read more regarding my novel on the following sites :
BLOG: SEE TABS at top of page. This has the most information including buying options, awards, reviews, and articles. See second TAB for awards and reviews.

WEBSITE:  See sample chapter, video, and merchandising, and for purchasing the book.
Also on the website:
1. Click on the MAP TAB at the top of the page..
2. Click on any one of the RED stars and it will take you into the map to characters and locations.
3. Return to MAP and repeat steps two and three to see this one-of-a-kind novel that takes readers from fantasy to reality and truth.

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

October Flash Fiction #10

Jenny Twist

Elsie was going down the stairs, slowly and carefully, holding onto the bannister and watching her feet. She had a horror of falling downstairs, imagining herself tumbling over and over, out of control, hitting the bottom and breaking her neck.  It didn’t bear thinking about.

She thought she saw a movement out of the corner of her eye and looked up.

Somebody was standing at the foot of the stairs! A tall, dark, hooded figure. She felt her heart clench in her chest and a wave of dizziness swept over her. She held on tight to the bannister and closed her eyes until the feeling had passed.  And when she opened them again it had gone. There was just her good winter coat hanging on a peg by the front door.

She shook her head and continued on down the stairs rather more carefully than before.

She probably wouldn’t have thought anything of it – after all, everyone had that experience from time to time, the brain wrongly interpreting something half-seen. She still saw her old cat Beamish occasionally, curled up on a chair, or sitting by the stove. Then, when she looked again, it was a cushion, or a log that had fallen from the basket. She might have thought she was seeing his ghost, except it used to happen when he was alive.

But this was different, somehow. There had been something horribly real about that figure. Something frightening.

She saw it again that evening in the living room. One of her balls of wool escaped and when she bent to pick it up, she looked up and saw it standing by the curtains. She was so upset she lost interest in the programme she was watching and went into her bedroom to work on the computer.

She had been frightened of the computer at first. Her daughter had bought it for her after Fred died. “You can Skype us,” she had said, “and follow us on Facebook.”

Elsie had no idea what she was talking about, but once Lizzie had shown her how it all worked, she was entranced. It was a godsend now Lizzie was living in America. She looked on Facebook every day to see how they were getting on, and at the weekend they spoke on Skype and she could see and speak to her grandsons. It was like a miracle! They were so many thousands of miles away, but it was as if they were in the same room.

She briefly considered Skyping Lizzie now, telling her about the hooded figure. But she dismissed the thought. Lizzie would think she was going senile and worry about her.
Lizzie had also set her up on something called Twitter but that was much less interesting. They only let you say a tiny amount, so you couldn’t have a proper conversation. The only one she ever looked for was Stephen Fry. She loved Stephen Fry.

She didn’t bother with Twitter now. She went into Facebook to see what her friends were doing and then she opened her diary and wrote what was to prove one of the most interesting passages in the whole document.


She saw the Dark Man all the time after that. That’s what she called him, ‘The Dark Man’. She never saw his face. It was always in the shadow of the hood. But she had a very good idea of what his face looked like and she didn’t really want to see it.

He was getting nearer. Every day when she saw him he was nearer to her and she had the impression he was following her around. There was no question now whether he was an optical illusion. He was so close she could see the pattern of the weave in his black cloak.
But he didn’t touch her. And for that she was grateful.

But what did he want? He must want something from her, surely?

Eventually she could stand it no longer. They were sitting opposite each other at the kitchen table and she suddenly found herself saying in a surprisingly strong and confident voice, “ I know who you are.”

The hooded head moved upwards. She had the distinct impression he was surprised.

“What do you want? What do you want from me?”

And then he spoke. His voice was of rusty nails and old tombs, “I want you to follow me.”

Elsie stood up from the table, gripped by a terrible panic. “No. No,” she said. “I’m not ready.”

The figure lifted his hand from under his cloak and it was just as she feared. It was the hand of a skeleton.

Her heart clenched again, but this time it didn’t relax. It remained held in an iron grip as her lungs folded in upon themselves and her breath gave out.

Death stood over her, looking down at her face, convulsed in its final terror. Then he gave a long sigh, walked over to the bedroom and logged into the computer.

His page came up, @Death666, and he scrolled down, looking for someone else to follow.

Bio: Jenny Twist left school at fifteen and went to work in an asbestos factory. After working in various jobs, including bacon-packer and an escapologist's assistant, she returned to full-time education and did a BA in history at Manchester and post-graduate studies at Oxford.

In 2001 she and her husband moved to Southern Spain where they live with their rather eccentric dog and cat.

Friday, October 19, 2012

October Flash Fiction #9

Jenny King

Natalie hated long journeys, especially in the rain and particularly in the dark. She was tired already and only half the journey was complete. 
“Not far now” she muttered to herself
Suddenly the engine warning light came on.
“Oh god really?” now talking to the car
She needed a place to stop and phone Mike, driving slightly further she saw what was a warehouse and a light shining from the top window. The car crawled its last drive to the warehouse. Slamming the door as if to punish it, she ran to the entrance.  The building looked old.
She took out her phone, no signal  
“Typical” she thought
Turning to the large door Natalie looked for a buzzer, wondering why anyone would be in at this time of night.
She eventually saw a speakerbox and buzzed
“Hello” said a croaky old voice
“Hello, im sorry to disturb but my car has broken down and my mobile has no signal, could I come in and use your phone?”
No reply
She sighed and turned back to the car. Suddenly the door opened.
“Thank you,” she shouted to the air
Natalie stepped inside and the cold air still followed her, even after the door slammed shut behind. Looking around she studied that the floor was covered in newspapers and dust. There was a conveyer belt going around the area- she was in a factory of some kind. The only light was from a hanging florescent tube that was swinging on two chains, even though there was no breeze. The air smelt of musk and it tasted damp.
“Hello” she shouted with a hint of impatience
She walked through to another room, no one around but lots of boxes. This room was darker as the only light came from the entrance.  She took out her phone and used it as a torch.
 To the right of her were stairs.  She started to climb them and they made a creaky noise, like the bolts were loose. This was enough for her to quicken her pace. At the top she could see down to the area she was first in. Natalie noticed out the corner of her eye something moved down below, but she couldn’t focus quick enough. She shook her head and continued on
“Surely they hire a cleaner?”  Tutting at the newspapers on the floor.
The next room she saw a baby, she let out a silent scream and ran to it, but as she got nearer she noticed it was a doll- so this is what the factory is used for! A doll factory!
Unexpectedly music started to play throughout the factory- creepy nursery rhyme music, sounds like it is playing on a gramophone type player.  
“I must be close to that phone” she wondered
She found it odd that whoever the old person was had not greeted her yet. As she approached the other side of the room she saw a warm glow from under the door and a voice of a female talking. 
“Finally” she thought as the cold was starting to get to her
“Don’t they have heating here either?
Natalie knocked on the door.
“Yes” the old voice demanded
“Hello its me- I buzzed in asking to use a phone?”
“Ahh yes come in” the croaky voice replied
She opened the door to an office type room. She made out the back of an old lady on a rocking chair, cradling one of the dolls like it was alive.
“Hello” she said nervously
The old lady turned around slowly, her face was like one of the porcelain dolls and her eyes were black as night, her jaw started to detach.
Natalie screamed and ran out the room, hearing giggling in the background. As she was running , the doll that was on the floor earlier was not there! She didn’t care and kept running – she didn’t think she was being followed. Down the stairs she tripped face down onto the floor, her eyes adjusting to the newspaper article in front of her:
“Factory murder forces business to close”
There was a picture of the manager – the old lady!
She picked herself up, her knees started to hurt so had to limp. The giggle was behind her, she turned her head around and her eyes widened. The doll was walking! Its head turning 360 then jerks sideways like it has a twitch. She quickened her limp; the dolls were climbing out the boxes.  They were moving towards her and a screech from above pierced her ears.  Natalie glanced up to see the old lady; she looked like she was ordering the dolls somehow.
“We need fresh blood to keep us going” the old lady shrieked
“You will join us” chanted the dolls slowly
Natalie could feel the bruise from her knees starting to come out and tears formed around her eyes making everything blurry.
“Join us, join us”
The sound of the nursery rhyme in the background got stuck on repeat. Natalie made her body move for her freedom, she tried the door but it was locked.  She turned around to find any other doors; surely there should be an exit?
The old lady spouted black wings and flew towards her. Suddenly she blacked out.
Natalie awoke sometime later- she felt hungover, her body felt stiff and squashed somehow.  She glanced at her hand and found it was tiny.  Everything around her seemed so big and tall. Lying on its side was a broken mirror. Shuffling towards it she started to get a recollection of what happened earlier. Scared to look, taking all her confidence, she takes a deep breath and willed herself to look.  Staring at her reflection she froze in horror-she realised she was looking at a doll.
Screaming she woke up to the sound of her phone vibrating.  It was Mike texting her, asking if she could pick him up from the airport. Sweat dripping from her forehead, she breathed a sigh of relief.  Just a dream.  

My name is Jenny King, I am 27 and a 1st time mummy to my daughter.  I like reading, drawing , knitting and writing. Currently writing my first novel (link below) and I participate in five sentence fiction and 100WCGU to improve my writing skills. I also write book reviews. This is my first competition!  

Thursday, October 18, 2012

The Latest Bzz: Green Mountain Coffee

If you believe nothing gets your morning off to a better start than a great cup of coffee AND you believe that coffee growers deserve a fair price for the hard work that goes into bringing you that satisfaction, give Green Mountain Coffee a try. This Fair Trade Certified coffee is a pioneer in the Fair Trade movement, ensuring that farmers not only get a fair price for their beans, but also that their surrounding communities see the benefits.

To learn more about Green Mountain Coffee and their work in the Fair Trade movement, visit and like their Facebook page:

As part of my awesome BzzAgent gig, I received three pots' worth of their House Blend in the mail yesterday. We brewed the first one this morning. My hubby and I agreed: "Not bad. Not bad at all."
We prepared this particular package, recommended for 8 cups, in our 10 cup maker. If you like a stronger brew, I'd suggest using the 8 cups. We like ours a little milder, so it turned out perfectly for our tastes! Keurig fans will be excited to know that Green Mountain is the leading K-Cup brand.

You can find Green Mountain Coffee in most grocery stores, plus your local Wal-Mart, Target, and online at  Use this code: PASSIT-ON to get $2 off your online order there!

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

An Interview with Author Christopher Carrolli

Christopher Carrolli is a full-time writer, who lives in Western Pennsylvania. He is a graduate of University of Pittsburgh at Greensburg and holds a BA in English Writing, and an AA in English. He has also won the Ida B. Wells Prize in Journalism. The Listener is Chris’ second novel and second installment in The Paranormal Investigator Series. He is currently writing the third installment, The Third Eye of Leah Leeds.

Everyone welcome Christopher Carrolli, fellow Melange author who's written two books in The Paranormal Investigator Series. Let's interrogate him a bit, shall we?

Christopher (or can I call you Chris?), tell us about yourself. Where do you live, and what do you do when you're not writing about things from beyond the grave?

Buy it HERE!
Hi Mysti, of course you can call me, Chris. I am a full time writer and I live in Greensburg, which is east of Pittsburgh, PA. When I’m not writing, I work part time as a fundraiser, and I love reading, so I read a great deal also. I have been a fan of Stephen King, Anne Rice, and Edgar Allen Poe for most of my life, so the inspiration to write paranormal/horror came early for me. I also enjoy working out.

What inspired Pipeline and it's successor, The Listener?

“Pipeline” was inspired by the fact that I have, at one time or another experienced some of the instances I have described in the book. In researching the pipeline theory, I discovered that many people had very similar stories of occurrences, and that everyone seems to have a “paranormal incident” story nowadays. So, “Pipeline” began from the basis of “what if?” In “The Listener,” I wanted to take on the theory of clairaudience (hearing the dead), as well as remote hearing, which is hearing conversations from afar, or hearing the living. I also had to figure out what happened next…haha.

Did you do any special research for these books, like going on actual paranormal investigations?

I had been to a few, uneventful ones, but much of my research dealt with discovering what ghost hunters do, what kind of equipment they use, what kind of experiences do they encounter, etc. I think paranormal occurrences themselves can best be illuminated by fiction; there is so much more room to explore by fictionalizing than just sitting around and wondering what that noise was.

How many books do you have in mind for this series?

So far, I have plotted out six and plan on exploring a variety of paranormal topics and issues. I am now writing the third installment, The Third Eye of Leah Leeds.

According to your Melange bio, you earned a BA in English Writing and an AA in English from the  University of Pittsburgh at Greensburg. How has your formal education helped to shape your writing career?

Well, my major was called “English Writing” because UPG’s writing program encompassed all forms of writing. So, basically, my major would have been called “Journalism” anywhere else, but my field of study focused not only Journalism, but Fiction, various forms of Non-Fiction including Memoir, as well as Poetry. It helped me realize that we as writers write, regardless of what the genre is. That’s what we do, we write. It also focused on the Marketing/Publishing side of writing, which was a tremendous benefit. It removed any previous admonitions that writing was not “normal” or “practical.”

Has anything surprised you about the publishing/marketing process?

No, not really. I’ve heard quite a few horror stories about the whole publishing/marketing process, but thankfully, have found them to be a little exaggerated.

If you've seen any of my previous interviews, you know about the random question. Here's yours: As Halloween draws closer, what candy makes your mouth water most?

Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.

Coming October 29!
Now, Mr. Carrolli, would you mind sharing a short excerpt of your work?

Of Course, Mysti. Hope you enjoy it...
       The voice, he could no longer hear the voice, and now the static seemed somehow faint, far-off. Above him, a brilliant sun gleamed yet it was not the bright orange face of Sol that was life itself, but a sun strangely steeped in the ultra-violet, and jagged were the arcs of the rounded orb. In front of him, a corridor unfolded, vacant and vast and cast in the purple hue that emanated from the strange sun.      
      The static grew fainter, becoming a hush in the hollow background where dark crude shadows danced in anonymity. Where was he? The long corridor stretched out even further with each small step that he took, becoming an endless plateau through which he moved, bathed in the dim, indigo light. His movement was hindered, weighted down, as though he moved underwater through a strange, uncertain sea.        
       He remembered the voice again—Tracy’s voice. Then suddenly the images of the past few days played out before him, recreated on an eerie stage lit by the hovering sun. One by one, the images flashed like a slideshow: him tearing out of the parking lot with the van, Tracy’s jeep flipping over the guardrail, her lifeless body bloodied as he cradled her, the sound of the ambulance, the casket, the funeral, the newspaper headline, the static—and then, the voice.         
       She’s dead. Tracy’s dead. Am I dead too? If not, why can’t I wake up?  

Thanks so much for visiting Unwritten, Chris! I hope to see much more of you in the future!!

Thank you, Mysti! I am thrilled to be here. It’s been a pleasure.