It’s been a while but my blog is back, this time as part of my brand new website, jasonrybak.com, which is the perfect place to peruse my books, check out this blog and keep up-to-date with my latest news and releases. There’ll be the occasional freebie as well! More on that below.
You can sign up to the blog and receive email alerts when the latest edition is published. As well as new releases and descriptions of books already on the market, the focus of the blog will be continuing my fictional story, The Diary of the Writer on the Run.
The Diary of the Writer (Part One) is free to read on jasonrybak.com as a PDF. It’s part diary, part thriller, part fantasy. You’ll get the chance to meet my alter-ego as well!
Here’s a brief description:
Stalked by someone who leaves no evidence of their presence, a writer (me) gets caught up in the dangerous world he’s written about in his books – which he thought were just made up and imaginary.
Part Two begins on Friday.
PS Happy Halloween everybody!
I locked the front door behind me and stepped out into the cold night air, then ventured through the trees around the back of the house. I’d wandered through there so many times I could do it in the dark no problem at all.
Every slasher horror film I’d ever seen flashed before my mind’s eye – where some idiot gets a call or hears a noise outside or wonders where their mate Weenus went. Instead of waiting inside where it’s safe, they step outside the safety of their home to see if they can see anything, usually leaving the front door open for any psycho to creep in unseen. Every time I see one of these films, I always shout at the screen:
“Stay inside, you idiot.”
Then the idiot gets stabbed to death and their body is found in a pool of blood.
So here I was, creeping outside the safety of the house to see if I could see anyone.
I woke up slumped over my desk, my ribs pressed against the edge, my face on the keyboard of my laptop. I don’t remember falling asleep. I have no idea how long I slept or how long I had worked since I slept last.
Thinking back to what I remembered, I was coming to the conclusion that both books were pretty much ready, when I noticed something on my desk next to my laptop. It was a note.
“Check your computer.”
I found artwork for the front covers of both books – emailed to me from an account I couldn’t identify. All I knew for sure was that Sarasin Shade agreed with me. They’re ready. It’s nearly time to publish.
I woke up with a start. I jumped.
ShadowAspect stood over me, still just a tangible black shadow. He pointed to my desk. The lamp was on, shining on what looked like a dense pile of paper.
I sat down, my heart pounding, my stomach turning with nerves. On top of the pile was another note.
“You work for me now.”
Underneath were two manuscripts. Under them was a set of instructions.
I didn’t bother going back to bed. I made myself some coffee and got started.
Of all the things he could have started with, why that one question? What does it mean? Is it the beginning of a conversation or a demand for specific information?
I sat at my desk and stared at the note for hours, struggling to come up with my next move or some kind of response, but I had nothing. I was late for work.
An evening spent staring at it produced nothing either. I didn’t bother staying up to wait for ShadowAspect. I fell asleep, assuming he would wake me if he wanted something.
It was late morning when I woke up. I suppose my lack of sleep in recent weeks is taking its toll. There was another note. This time it wasn’t a question, it was a demand.
“Tell me you want to be a writer.”
He means me no harm. I also believe that the shadowy figure in my flat is just a messenger and not the one who has been watching me.
I still don’t know what he wants. But I have come to terms with the fact that he won’t leave me alone and plans to be around for a long time.
I tried to write, but I wasn’t happy with it. I gave up. I need to know what he wants with me.
ShadowAspect appeared again. He left another note written with quill and ink.
“You want to be a writer?”
The second I woke up, I knew I had to get out of the flat, so I showered, got dressed and left as quickly as I could. I took a train, desperate to get as far away as possible, and found somewhere for breakfast. I wondered around, doing anything I could think of to wipe it all from my mind. But I had to go back eventually. And the intruder was all I could think of.
He appeared again. I was waiting, but I didn’t move once I saw him. I simply sat up in bed and watched.
After staring each other down for what felt like hours, he strode to my desk and produced a piece of paper. He left it there. Then he was gone. It was a simple note written in ink with a quill pen:
“His name is ShadowAspect.”
It happened again. I lay awake in bed for hours last night, staring into the darkness. I couldn’t see anything, but I could feel someone’s eyes on me. I turned over and over, trying to ignore it, but it was no use. I was sure I could sense a presence moving about in my flat. I wasn’t alone.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Why did I think another move would make any difference? I haven’t slept in weeks. I can barely think straight. It’s the same as the last place I lived – and the three before that. I just want a good night sleep. I want to write.
This is my story. Fictional, of course.
I was a struggling writer – working a normal job by day and writing by night. But I had a secret. I was being watched, followed by someone who never left any evidence of their presence. I never saw them, but I knew they were there. And there was nothing I could do about it. I moved. I changed jobs. It made no difference.
Everything changed when I discovered my stalker was connected to the worlds and characters I was writing about. They weren’t as fictional or as imaginary as I’d thought. And they did not want me writing about them.
I can’t show you my face. I can’t tell you where I am. I’ve been moving from place to place. I wouldn’t say I was running away – not yet anyway. But I have to be prepared for the day when I need to disappear without anyone knowing who I am or where I am going. I know that day is coming.
My name is Jason Rybak. I am the Writer on the Run.