I just spent a good part of the day at the hospital. It’s not dire. I had to get in to see an ER doc to rule out pneumonia. Both my wife and I are sick with different things, but we are confident all will be well.No pneumonia!
Happy New Year
As I wrap up the final edits on Vengeance Is Hers, I’ll also dig deeper into the design and marketing stuff (among many, many other things). I don’t plan to post here again until January 14, 2025, and I won’t be available until then.
First goal: Get over this virus. I tested negative for C-19, and I’m picking up a couple of prescriptions in the morning for this cough.
Second goal: Spend fun time with the family and help out She Who Must Be Obeyed.
Third: Final edits and locking in the manuscript.
Until then, friends and fiends, be as healthy and as happy as nature and the laws allow.Or don’t get caught.
If you’ve ever wondered about the writing and publishing process, I have answers. Vengeance Is Hers took longer than usual due to variables beyond my control. Creating Bigger Than Jesus took three months, from conception to publication. The trilogy of This Plague of Days took a little more than three years. At my fastest pace, I published four books in one year.The writing process for my next thriller was a mess, but in the end, it’s going to make a big happy splash.
Round One is back from the editor and the prime beta reader!
Now things start to speed up for Vengeance Is Hers! From the top, this is how we do it:
My official start for this novel was August 15, 2022.
I wrote the first draft, backed up halfway through, switched from first-person narration to third.
I endured two hip replacements in 2023, got distracted by a lot of pain and rehab, and relearned how to walk.
Wrote 120,000 words, and rethought the story arc. Clenched teeth in frustration.
Keeping most of the story in one small town in Maine, I had to cut 50,000 words. This was originally going to be about making a movement of female vigilantes. Some of what I wrote in the original draft may be used for a sequel.To make this a better book, I had to sacrifice a lot of words and time. I went back to rework the concept.
Second draft. A lot of back and forth here as I went deeper. The word count climbed back up to 105,000 words.
Hip pain receded almost entirely. Back to my old self, I have more energy to deal with this project.
Found words with the “-ion” suffix for every chapter title.
Third draft: filled in plot holes and found more jokes and clever turns of phrase.
Listened to most of it. Reread all of it. Cut the long chapters in half so most chapters are no more than 1,200 words. (For a fast pace, I like short, fast chapters so readers feel like they’re burning through the book).
Added tweaks, usually fleshing out something vague, adding a joke, or turning up the dialogue to eleven.
Woke up in the night, continually plagued by little tweaks to make the story better.
Word count climbed back up to 113,349.
When I can’t look at it anymore, it’s ready for more eyes on the prize. Prime beta reader begins.
The manuscript is shared to two more beta readers for comments.
Google Drive alters corrections I’ve already made! Frustration ensues.
Editrix Extraordinaire Gari Strawn begins her first round of editing. She downloads it off Google Drive so we won’t get new errors introduced to the manuscript.
I review all editing suggestions from beta readers and my editor, making all necessary changes. That’s the step I’m at today.
Gari will dig through the manuscript for Vengeance Is Hers for two more rounds.
When she’s done, and I finish final revisions, we’ll lock it in.
Then it’s back to the designers about the details of the paperback and hardcover.
Today, I reminded my sister that she made me her enemy on my twenty-fifth birthday. She sent me a birthday card that said, “Happy 25th!” I opened the card. The inside message was: YOU ARE NOW OLD.
“You remember that?” she said. “Holding grudges isn’t good for you! You should let that go!”
“I don’t know how to do that. Anyway, my point is, you shouldn’t sleep so well. My enemies often end up in my books. Bad things happen.”
I placed highly in s short story contest put on by The Toronto Star. A lot of positive feedback came my way. The morning after it was published, a woman tracked me down. She asked me to be her co-author on a non-fiction book. She was not simply asking. She was adamant because she had such passion for her subject. It was to be about how her son was an addict. His addiction, she told me, was weed. Boy, did she seek out the wrong writer! I have trouble sleeping, and such supplements help me. My first anthology was Self-help for Stoners.I turned her down.
Next up was my father. He wanted me to write the story of his life. At that time, I was in the middle of putting out four novels a year. “You don’t know what you’re asking,” I told him. “Writing your book means a huge opportunity cost. I don’t have the bandwidth to write your book and cater to my readership, too.”
In the end, he did write his auto-biography. I edited it and helped him publish it, but I didn’t allow his hobby to swallow all my career aspirations.
Most of the interactions I’ve had with readers have been overwhelmingly positive. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that.
After publishing This Plague of Days, someone reached out to me on Facebook to congratulate me on completing the trilogy. “Thanks!” I said. “Very kind of you to say so!”
It would have been fine if it had stopped there. This person then asked me repeatedly to recite everything there was to know about the book. It seemed they wanted the outline, no matter how many hours it might take from me. I replied that I don’t give out spoilers. What I meant was, just go buy and read the book! I wanted to ask, “What did your last slave die of?” That person had no social skills and ulterior motives. After I turned them down, I never heard from them again.
Most of the interactions I’ve had with readers have been overwhelmingly positive. Sadly, I remember the negative ones best. I have an eidetic memory for every insult. I am still debating about dispatching assassins to those who have wronged me. One fellow had a very high opinion of himself. He tried to blackmail me into working with him as an editor. No, thanks!
Oh, and that win for the Toronto Star contest? It stirred up a couple of trolls. One went on a diatribe of “That’s not how hypnosis works!” (A) I never said it was hypnosis, and (B) I know all about hypnosis, thanks.
Another grumpy guy insisted I didn’t deserve the prize. They also made sure to let everyone know they had not participated in the contest and lost. Sweetheart, methinks thou dost protest too much.Go beat up a leaf.
I read negative reviews not at all or only once. When I’m feeling down (which is often), I reread my happy reviews many times.That is therapeutic. Readers will never know how many times I went to bed, pulled the covers over my head, and decided it was time to give up. But what else am I going to do? Hypnosis, maybe, but that’s it!
So many times, I wish I said the right thing in the moment. “I don’t have the bandwidth to deal with that,” is a great go-to. Unfortunately, that vocabulary didn’t exist yet in the late ’80s and ’90s. People have that phrasing now, and it’s useful.
Since the pandemic, many people have been more mindful of their time and energy. For instance, office workers who want to continue to work from home are clinging to that status. If they are no less productive and happy to ditch the commute to work from home, why not?
Those who have the privilege are more careful about how and where they spend their time and energy. Energy vampires will take advantage of you if you let them. I try not to dwell on what the trolls spew. Hurtful words are always usually more about the person hurling them.But my memory is too good for this sort of thing, and sometimes that’s awful.
Have you figured out how to let go of insults and hurt feelings? If your strategy works without giving me a lobotomy or a serious blow to the head, let me know. I’d be very curious to hear how you manage that.
No wonder I write novels about clever revenge and vigilante justice.
The murder of a health insurance CEO in New York is an interesting moment in American history. It is a little surprising (but not shocking) how many people don’t care that this person was killed. (Read reactions to Brian Thompson’s killing on Huffpost here.)
I’m not condoning murder. However, the more you learn about the practices of his company, the more you understand the impulse to dismiss the crime with, “Oh, well.”
I write stories about vigilante justice.
I prefer those stories to stay within the confines of fiction.
I spoke with an American friend recently who needed medical tests. They had insurance, but the co-pay was usurious. Another American friend had a series of worrying symptoms. He couldn’t afford to visit a doctor. He had to choose groceries and rent over the possibility of a horrible death.
I see my doctor a few times a year. I couldn’t afford to be a hypochondriac in the United States. Medical bankruptcy is not a thing in Canada. Here, there are no such things as pre-existing conditions. We just call that your medical history.
Non-Americans look at the richest country in the world and wonder, “How are you okay with this?”
We rarely visit the United States. We wouldn’t consider stepping south of the border for a moment without medical travel insurance. Going without insurance is one thing. Paying for insurance and still not being able to access healthcare anyway is especially galling.
People feel the way they do about this murder for genuine reasons. This one rich man’s death will get much more attention than the deaths of others. His company’s policies deny care to people in need, but that is already known. It doesn’t seem the demise of so many patients will be investigated with half as much vigor as the CEO’s death.
I am so grateful for universal healthcare.
I have had surgery to save the vision in my left eye. In 2023, I had two hips replaced. The care was excellent and timely. The most I had to pay for all that excellent care was parking fees. There is nowhere on Earth where universal healthcare is perfect. I prefer less-than-perfect to the confusion and deceit present in the American healthcare system.
What does that murder mean, though?
This murder, this moment, is not a cultural shift on its own. It’s a symptom of a sick system. When justice fails, people give up on norms.This has been coming a long time. In the middle of a stump speech to a conservative crowd years ago, Ron Paul spoke of providing healthcare to the poor. “Should we let them die?” Paul expected a resounding no. Instead, someone yelled, “Yes!” The assembled burst into a round of applause.
This is an increasingly dangerous time. When empathy disappears, society fails.
When people ask me where I get my ideas, I have to say, “All around me.” From my impatience in long lines at the grocery store to my anger at an unjust world, there’s plenty to spur my bitter imagination.
Vengeance Is Hers is the origin story for a vigilante. Molly Jergins sees a fellow student at her high school assaulted. The bully receives no real consequences. Molly launches a one-woman campaign get the bully and his awful family banished from Poeticule Bay, Maine. She’s only in high school, but Molly has found her life’s calling.
The novel is about Good versus Evil and where the line between the two blurs. It’s about growing up in a town too small for your big dreams. I also include a lot of ideas on how to get back at people who deserve your wrath.
The manuscript is with the editor. We’ll do three rounds of edits and polishing, plus the excellent work of beta readers. Launching in early 2025! Please stand by!
I repeat: This is not an instruction book! But….
Okay, yes, you can expect a lot of clever ideas of how to exact vengeance upon your many, many enemies. Where do I get those strategies? Mostly from my imagination. A woman on TikTok gave me an idea about how to best plague an enemy with the stench of sour milk. Listening to The Daily Zeitgeist podcast gave me some fresh fun on the helpful dangers of bouncy castles. I thank those influences in the Acknowledgments section at the back of the book.
Mostly, I think a lot about the people who have wronged me or someone else and contemplate what might be a useful weapon I could pick up at any hardware store. You will, too. It’s funfiction
Vengeance Is Hers is still in the editing process. If you can’t wait for an excellent story of vigilante justice, read The Night Man now.
Easy Jack isn’t a bad guy, but to survive, he will have to act like one.
“You’re guaranteed a mighty fine read.” ~ Claude Bouchard, USA Today Bestselling author of the Vigilante Series.
From the author of the Hit Man Series comes a new killer thriller.
Returning home after serving his country, Ernest “Easy” Jack hoped his family’s reputation had been forgotten. No such luck in Lake Orion. Small towns have long memories. Grudges run deep. Worse, his high school sweetheart is trapped in an abusive marriage. Family bonds, love and loyalty will be tested when a sociopathic billionaire and a dirty cop conspire to use Easy in a deadly bomb plot.
When a fellow student is attacked and run out of town, police and the school administration in Poeticule Bay, Maine prove useless. Enraged, Molly Jergins launches a campaign of vigilante justice against the school bully.
As threats and vandalism escalate to a war ending in death, the line between right and wrong blur. Molly tries to be good, but when hunting monsters, she will be safer if she becomes a better monster.
Revenge is the best success.
Robert Chazz Chute is a former crime and science journalist for newspapers and magazines. A graduate of the University of King’s College and the Banff Publishing Workshop, Robert has won fifteen awards for his writing. He pens suspenseful crime fiction with muscle and apocalyptic tales with heart. His hidden headquarters is a blanket fort in Other London. Vengeance is Hers is his twenty-ninth book.
I added a little scene to my vigilante thriller yesterday, so I thought I’d share it. Here’s what you need to know: Molly Jergins attends Poeticule Bay Consolidated High School. After a fellow student, Barry Graves, is attacked by the school bully, Keith Faun, Molly confronts Keith. After that scene, a teacher shows up. Molly proves that, despite her young age (or perhaps because of her youth), she’s made of sterner stuff.
Oration: Scene fragment / Molly and Mrs. Simmons
Molly’s history teacher, Mrs. Abby Simmons, pushed her way through the crowd. “Hey! People! The bell has rung! Get to class! What’s going on? I’ve got an empty classroom, and I get lonely talking to myself! All of you have somewhere to be!”
Molly, sporting a wide and grateful grin, turned to her. “Sure, Mrs. Simmons!”
Keith turned and walked away, and Molly called after him, “You’re welcome!”
Some students snickered. Mrs. Simmons shushed them and waved them on. The crowd dispersed. A few of the juniors and sophomores touched Molly’s shoulder as a silent gesture of respect as they passed. She was relieved, certain that those witnesses and their phones had saved her from getting a black eye, or worse.
“What are you up to, Molly? Did you just make a bad situation worse?” Mrs. Simmons demanded.
“Me? Nah. That guy is like an ice cream headache. He’s going to get worse before he gets better. Not that anyone cares, but a lot of us don’t feel safe going to this school.”
By her eyes, Molly could tell the teacher didn’t disagree. Mrs. Simmons didn’t feel safe, either.
“You should know,” Mrs. Simmons said, “when you’re young and immature, you’ve got a lot more anger and energy. You look at the state of the world and….” She trailed off. They were alone in the corridor, but the teacher still looked around nervously to make sure no one else was within earshot.
“What is it, ma’am?” Molly prompted.
The teacher’s jaw worked for a moment as she searched for the right words. Finally, Mrs. Simmons said, “I just think you should appreciate that a lot of people around here, not just the students, are appalled by the incident between Keith and the Graves boy. But we’re also tired and just trying to get through our days. The police and the principal were informed. The ball’s in their court now. What’s best is to leave it be. Not our monkeys, not our circus anymore, right?”
Molly cocked her head to one side. “You’re tired?”
“Of this business? Surely and immeasurably.”
“If you’re tired, imagine how exhausted Barry must be. It sounds like you’ve given up, ma’am.”
“You will, too. Everybody does. When you learn the limits of what you can do, it makes sense to set your sights lower.”
“Spoken as a true educator, Mrs. Simmons! You’re an inspiration!”
The teacher shot her a sour look. “Tend to your own knitting, Molly, and get your butt to class.”
“I’ve got a free period in the library, ma’am.”
“Then get to it.”
She’d meant to curb Keith, not shame Mrs. Simmons. “Sorry,” Molly said, “maybe you’re right. I guess a lot of people do give up for whatever reason. I understand you’re trying to help me.”
But Molly couldn’t leave it at that, couldn’t stop herself. “As long as I’m still young and full of energy, though, I think I’ll keep on being angry when it’s right to be angry. Your way, powerless people stay powerless. You taught me that in your history class.”
Molly thought she had earned herself a detention, but Mrs. Simmons said nothing more. The teacher spun on her heel and strode back to her classroom.
Whatever happens, Molly cautioned herself, don’t turn into her. Don’t get so chicken of being wrong that you don’t do right.
