tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69501468011791529062024-03-18T02:15:15.213-07:00DIANA GRAVESdianagraveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02348203289637454397noreply@blogger.comBlogger204125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950146801179152906.post-53822500232434192632020-08-17T11:06:00.000-07:002020-08-17T11:06:32.101-07:00Burns Towing is Gouging crime victims of stolen cars!<p>Three months ago my husband drove my car to the store and when he came out of the store the car was gone. Several weeks later the police found the car and had it towed by Burns Towing. I called Burns Towing and was told I had to pay $300+ to get my car back. I couldn't afford it...so they kept my car and sold it at a profit. </p><p>Now they've sent me another bill for $753.77...which I still can't afford. Burns has already made $500+ profit from the sale of my stolen car, and now they're threatening to take me to collections. </p><p>So let me get this straight....Burns Towing took MY car for FREE and sold it for <b>$506.92!!!</b> But they feel <span style="color: red; font-size: xx-large;">I Owe them????????? </span>They feel like<span style="font-size: xx-large;"> TAKING someone </span>else's car means they deserve<span style="font-size: xx-large;"> $1,260.69!!!!! </span></p><h1 class="article__headline" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #161616; font-family: proximanova, sans-serif; font-size: 46px; line-height: 1.13; margin: 15px 0px 30px; position: relative;"><a href="https://www.burnstowing.com/">Burns Towing</a> is Crime Profiteering and Gouging crime victims of stolen cars!</h1><div>This company is EVIL...Here's just some of their reviews:</div><div><br /></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">😡These guys are total scumbags, and they will rip you off and take you for as much as they possibly can. I don't even see how they get away with charging the outrageous fees they do. Someone bought my daughter's car and then abandoned it without putting it in their names, so now she's on the hook for thousands of dollars in fees for a car that's worth no more than $250. Shame on Burns Towing! My next call is to the AG's office.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">😡</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">They are a horrible tow company! No customer service at all, they are dishonest honest and cheats! No one should ever use them, they don't care about the victim of the accident or situation.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">😡</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Most dishonest towing company in Washington state,</span></div><span style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">The people that own this company & work there are dishonest & thieves & liars The way this company makes money is by manipulating technical details of addresses,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">& by sending threatening letters in the mail to their victims claiming they owe Burns towing company money,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">If you want a perfect example of why our financial system is so messed up in America take a look at Burns towing they are the exact reason,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Furthermore: my own personal experience with Burns towing involves a vehicle which I did not own anymore and had released all interest to the department of licensing the day I sold the car, including the new owners full name and address,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">However Burns towing found a flaw in that address stating that the address was not complete and therefore I am still the legal owner of the vehicle a 94 Honda Delsol,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">This is completely illegal as they have sold the vehicle at auction,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">"You can't sell something that's not yours" so that fact alone makes them thieves that they sold the vehicle but the Vin number was not registered in their name!,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Next fact they are liars because they originally told me that they did not have any information on the person I sold the vehicle to nearly 2 years ago,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">But when I spoke with them today they did have information including his address,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">It's very clear that Burns towing Company is manipulating the system to extract peoples money,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">I would suspect this company has been doing this every single day for many years so the entire company's history is built on theft!</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">My suggestion to anyone reading this review stay as far away from Burns towing Company as possible they are crooks, liars, thieves, manipulators, and very dishonest people.</span><div><span style="color: #2b273c; font-family: Open Sans, Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b273c; font-family: Open Sans, Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">😡</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Your driver who has a shaved and or bald head with white beard wears black rimmed glasses, really needs to learn how to drive. He also needs to pay attention to which lanes are turning and which are not. You nearly caused an accident with THREE vehicles for not paying attention to what lane you were on!</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">By coincidence, we happened to have headed towards the same side of town. You cut more people off in the same manner you cut me and the three other cars off!</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">You're an a-hole!</span></div><div><span style="color: #2b273c; font-family: Open Sans, Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b273c; font-family: Open Sans, Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">😡😡😡</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Selling impounded cars illegally while a sailor is deployed even after two notices from two separate entities informing you of the status of the car and its owner? Tell me it isn't so</span></div><div><span style="color: #2b273c; font-family: Open Sans, Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b273c; font-family: Open Sans, Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">😡</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Old Caucasian guy at the front with glasses is on a complete power trip. We parked our car for sale for only 4 hours in front of a store were we asked permission to do so. I kindly asked why it would be $329 for a 1/2 mile tow pick up and he was a complete jerk. We even had the store owner call to let them know it was a mistake on his part. Instead this guy gave me scenarios of why and where I should be parking our car.. so I got pissed and kindly told him they are running a s*%tty business. He kicked me out of the office because he knew he was in the wrong. (And looked stupid in front of his scared employees). I will be posting and sharing my horrible experience with all of my business friends and family. Tacoma's a pretty friendly place for the most part, but Burns puts a horrible name on both the city and customer service.</span></div><div><span style="color: #2b273c; font-family: Open Sans, Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b273c; font-family: Open Sans, Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">😡</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #2b273c; font-family: "Open Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">NEVER DO BUSINESS WITH THEM. I had my car tow to this shitty business and when I went to get my car releases there were damages on my car. When I went and got it release I noticed that my car was dirty and the guy told me that it was dirty because of the ashes fall from the fire from Oregon so I am like, okay, I'll go get a car wash and that's when I notice the scraps and scratches on the side of my car. I called them up to tell them what happen and the receptionist told me that I need to speak to the manager so I decided to drive to their shop and when I got there the manager gave me attitude and told me that I have to talk to the owner who at that time wasn't there. Next day, I called to speak to the owner and told her what happen to my car and she gave me a bitch ass attitude by saying "how do we know that the damage didn't exist before we went to tow your car?" I then told her that my car was in a perfect condition before it got tow and she told me that she will not be responsible for the damage so I told her that I am going to seek legal action which taking her to civil court. FYI: I will never do business with them ever again and no one should not do business with them. I wouldn't even give them one star if it wasn't required by Yelp to write this review. This place is a piece of shit and so is their manager/owner. I hope karma fucking bite them in the ass rather in health or financially just for the greed of ripping people off and not taking the full responsibility of their wrong doing</span></div><div><span style="color: #2b273c; font-family: Open Sans, Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b273c; font-family: Open Sans, Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">And the list goes on and on...This company is scumbag bottom feeders!!! <br /></span></span><div><br /></div></div>dianagraveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02348203289637454397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950146801179152906.post-33444902805570938442020-04-14T22:04:00.000-07:002020-04-14T22:04:33.217-07:00Complicated Creatures<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm a complicated creature, like you I suspect. We all have our stories. Sometimes our stories are full of mini drama's that are insignificant in the big picture. Sometimes events of greater magnitude take hold of our lives for a time and you might wonder what god is laughing at you. You want to scream at the sky, "Are you not entertained!?!" That's been very much my life for the past year. You might take note that I have not written blog nor book since 2019. I barely post on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter or any other sort of online media...The reasoning is twofold... On one hand my career has changed greatly and on the other hand my mind is a flurry of thoughts that overwhelm me....<br />
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When I wrote all my books and blogs, I worked nights at a hotel. I had hours to myself and just little stressors in my life. My only drama was that of naughty customers and a rocky marriage. I could almost taste the vanilla of my life as I wrote that sentence. In what I now refer to as the before times, I rarely cried. I would sometimes imagine my loved ones passing away just to force the tears, because I needed the release of a good cry but had no reason to do so. Now, my world is full of tears being held back at every moment...How can I write when I can barely think? How can a weave a plot, when every story of my imagination is dwarfed by the very real emotions wrecking havoc on my soul? The greater details of my struggles should likely be kept to myself at this moment, but simply said I am a woman without: without love, without certainty, without her children. And worst of all, I did it to myself and would do it again.<br />
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Last year, 2019, was a year of change for me and my family. For years I lived with my husband, not in love with him, but in friendship with him. That seemed enough at times, though I admit, I often asked him for divorce just because it feels wrong to be tied to someone you're not in love with. He never granted it and I'd move on... But, last year I met a man who I fell in love with the moment our eyes met. It seemed like magic, like something from a cheap romance novel or badly written melodrama. We instantly began courting each other and my husband and I made the painful transition from monogamy to an open marriage, because just like before, he refused divorce as an option. My husband became my co-parent. He dated men and women and I fell more deeply ensnared by the man I'd met...<br />
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Our relationship was pure Heaven at first. He was everything I'd ever wanted in a man; ambitious, strong, handsome, smart and so funny... This man took me on amazing adventures! We made love in the grass while trains roared above us, we climbed mountains and found secret waterfalls in the forest. We drove hundreds of miles just to see something new. We sang to each other. We held each other up. We cried in each other's arms. We counselled each other as equals. For the first time in my life, I felt physically beautiful. I'd never known that feeling. We made love every chance we had and I'd never known sex to be so pleasurable.<br />
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But the goodness of this man was equal to the badness. Gradually, very gradually what seemed like mutual obsession and deep passionate love became toxic and full of tantrums, self hate, yelling, pain, and suffering. Many times I tried to leave this man. But he embodied both Heaven and Hell for me, and if I let him speak to me, even for an instant, I was his again...I could not deny him. We were stuck in a cycle of pain, lust, heaven, hell, friendship, hate and empathy... But eventually the badness stole him away from me. Even now he clings to me, calls me 6-20 times a day, hoping with all his heart that I will take him back, but how can I? Who would trust him after all the badness he's done? Should I? My love for him has never wavered. It feels like something close to unconditional, or maybe I'm suffering from some brain deficiency. Hell if I know. What I do know is that no matter his heart and intentions, his mind is criminal, his thoughts are criminal. There is no future there... And so, I'm without love.<br />
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And now, as a global epidemic falls on all our doorsteps I find myself an essential worker, a Residential Youth Specialist Lead...which basically means I'm the head counselor at a behavior therapy facility for foster children with behavior problems. Think Extreme Babysitter, or living in a house full of the most difficult teenagers. Between the cost of babysitters for my own children and the fear that I might bring something home to my babies, I was afraid these trying times would at best, leave us in financial ruin and at worst, cost me one or both of my children....So, with a heavy heart I sent my children to my mother's house, many hundreds of miles away. Every moment of every day is agony. My eyes are deep lakes of tears at all times and the waters are only held back by my will to be strong. These past months I've lost lovers and friends and now my children. My co-parent and I are working hard to get to the position we need to be in in order to bring our babies home...There is nothing more we can do.<br />
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dianagraveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02348203289637454397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950146801179152906.post-46007583069878143572019-07-03T18:13:00.001-07:002019-07-03T18:13:19.588-07:00MENTORING ME<p dir="ltr">A few weeks ago the man I love most in the world contacted a mentoring service on my behalf. 💞 He found just one among dozens or more mentors that help indie authors, such as myself. An appointment was made and I waited, not really knowing what to expect or how she could help. I thought I knew everything already. 🤓 I thought I was failing because I wasn't outgoing enough, and maybe my meekish manner marginalizes me and that's something I must work on, but my new mentor blew my mind! 😮</p>
<p dir="ltr">Lately I've been suffering from deep depression. It comes in bouts that last a couple of days or a couple of hours depending on who I'm with and what's going on. in the middle of one of my depressive episodes I get a call from my mentor, Toby. I completely forgot about the appointment. What she did was reach me through my depression (not easy) and teach me some stuff about being an author that I didn't know ( I thought impossible) </p>
<p dir="ltr">She talked about groups on LinkedIn where authors help authors. she says there's newsletters and advice from authors such as Sandra Beckwith, Joan Stewart and Dana Lynn Smith. </p>
<p dir="ltr">She mentioned picking the category or genre when publishing my books is extremely important. I knew that, but what I didn't know was that I should be aiming for more obscure categories rather than mainstream categories, no matter how applicable, because that helps my book stand out. 📖 If I call my book paranormal fantasy then I'm right up there against hundreds of well-known authors. If I call my books supernatural women sleuths then I don't have as much competition. Not that I see other authors as competition. People read more than one book in their lifetime and I love helping my fellow ❤️ authors. I'm referring to pages on Amazon's search engine... Mainstream genre might put me on page 145,678 of anyone's search for paranormal fantasy. Supernatural women's sleuth might put me on page 150....</p>
<p dir="ltr">Toby went on to say that it's best to publish your book at the beginning of the year that way you get a full year of being a new book. Whereas if you publish a book in November you only get 2 months of being at a new 2019 book vs being a new 2020 book for 12 months.</p>
<p dir="ltr">She also mentioned my books being what she called evergreen books. Meaning that the books don't age and that they're just as good to read now as they were back in 2011 when I first started published them.</p>
<p dir="ltr"><b>my homework assignment for the next few weeks:</b><br>
*Get to know KDP sponsored products<br>
*Look up those of authors I mentioned earlier <br>
*Find the characteristics of my typical reader <br>
*Go to LinkedIn and join some marketing groups. <br>
*Look up some more obscure genres and see what my books could fit in rather than the mainstream paranormal thrillers or urban fantasy which is what they are now. <br><br></p>
dianagraveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02348203289637454397noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950146801179152906.post-86869677650641393202019-06-25T12:40:00.000-07:002019-06-25T12:40:20.331-07:00I HATE ME MORE THAN ANYONE COULD<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;">I haven't written a word in 5 months! I've been stuck in a deep depressive state. Every time I feel myself getting better, I get sucked back down... I can't read, I can't write, I can't draw...I've painted once. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjitUYE-LxpG2Tm8ncHjqBmZnxjABiSvu9ehDSdoUKP-6W8psMrc6pirfngEkr29PfIhg7zs8f85VErIZsuACWCYtsvI_i_FP-Lfow9tegUZZrzImmLCsEykunZ8Sv8gXNkt-1bGuI5m79D/s1600/IMG_20190625_123733.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjitUYE-LxpG2Tm8ncHjqBmZnxjABiSvu9ehDSdoUKP-6W8psMrc6pirfngEkr29PfIhg7zs8f85VErIZsuACWCYtsvI_i_FP-Lfow9tegUZZrzImmLCsEykunZ8Sv8gXNkt-1bGuI5m79D/s320/IMG_20190625_123733.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I feel like I'm drowning in self hate, self doubt and self destruction. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was laid off from my job in December. I've never felt so rejected in my life. Since then I feel no pride, no self love and no ambition. I feel like a garbage person. I'm worthless and easily discarded. I'm an emotional writer and I cannot write when I'm like this and nothing seems to help. I have wonderful kids, a new job and supportive friends, but nothing helps me look past this rejection, and every criticism I receives reinforces it 10 fold. Every cruel word and disparaging tone, every time someone's mean to me, especially if its someone I love, it destroys me inside.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I hate me and everything about me...I feel like the world would be better without me in it. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkutZckg6gu3XvkZFSVIUdVmeFXldJpe3PYdSjakh4mD4lKa6-AeLu74d-aWr57GUbOHwFqRmTB0ggyKgX17351Df6ioe_dP-Tz-XpfEppSD0jh125aqhD3Q5Sk4vFhCuWzxE6PDcLam9N/s1600/IMG_20190517_003050.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkutZckg6gu3XvkZFSVIUdVmeFXldJpe3PYdSjakh4mD4lKa6-AeLu74d-aWr57GUbOHwFqRmTB0ggyKgX17351Df6ioe_dP-Tz-XpfEppSD0jh125aqhD3Q5Sk4vFhCuWzxE6PDcLam9N/s320/IMG_20190517_003050.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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dianagraveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02348203289637454397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950146801179152906.post-70770329849396204472019-01-23T14:30:00.000-08:002019-01-23T14:35:37.633-08:00I GOT THIS COVERED!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm just in awe of how many times I've created new covers for the <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Diana-Graves/e/B00713MMAA" target="_blank">Raina Kirkland Series</a>! I mean, seriously!<br />
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2011<br />
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Diana-Graves/e/B00713MMAA" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="838" data-original-width="613" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh93-92iHp4P-g9Z-anzI_6AGdGl2PDx5LjLuDZcqFcFvTS54TYxKbqA8oLDMzDwySFpt4Z3mbAsoml580hwn7Tk6YBQOw59226GVtXjXOtbhkczsCopIGgGYCz0SAL4DBwYNiopvb3qLOy/s320/book+1.jpg" width="234" /></a></div>
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2012</div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Diana-Graves/e/B00713MMAA" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="598" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlMT2jKmNVYyvtEA3dPFX1r69WIWJhfzoxYF__YDte3NGjr5XPe9b_mxxtROZ4wjhdXhyphenhyphenRgqhCNuUGZ-lA9EGNsBjk_hOKW6kzmMVQMEQQRn8l342vKtuUGf8WMkf54Abg2PQV7Qm_am9I/s320/BOOK1.jpg" width="199" /></a> <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Diana-Graves/e/B00713MMAA" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="622" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib4uxShtA5Ri-lN24-zfO0CP83qyeQfYScbZgNHyvi4Cn9QmBSZ5j9-NDLXBi3H6czOfUcQW5r0KvLsP2NPYOcLOmO5Iyix5H0i7dg9vAZ4ROCHHfeRMDIY_ojP12KrJ1zkw1dYLmhPsjo/s320/BOOK2.jpg" width="207" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Diana-Graves/e/B00713MMAA" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="957" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHKxEejarF9QtmHjx7k-KJ9YIAQY2CgTAohspTJ4X3E5GKC9vYMMCMhc9csxfnbB1ggZMxMj7XoB8hdBIk1kCck_2l7LHGYLwAMXA5DJAMlWJsYqdQ9-AlW5oRlKEFAzlDuBp9VB-7_Z1O/s320/cover%252Ccata2.jpg" width="191" /></a> <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Diana-Graves/e/B00713MMAA" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="506" data-original-width="335" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt1VBUg10CXZEf-oPX2dffOXYalaSQ1Y3_86JSHPp9qZ6RY6sX8V0jnDkH_DqkdMxcOqD2UeY_69vM1GMinWbpmmmz0wR9tvR3GInIFATwBzpz50nQbvtd0PMfd_eeEN6YagcdMNoxT3fA/s320/newbook2cover.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>
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2013</div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Diana-Graves/e/B00713MMAA" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1042" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8WF2jKDVTXlfzyC6_YjgQielWGMH5_S9-wzvxjYn2gb53_ep4vk-pFvNaD1Sw02mJ1dMmJgNGyMvv5-qCo4gEvBWxFOXXeemlC0ngzSlRYKRYM_FoxMSNXWVoMqrl_cXevgmAxE_vOThc/s320/3framed%2528f%2529.jpg" width="208" /></a><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Diana-Graves/e/B00713MMAA" style="text-align: left;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1008" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8eWlS-gm9HjmcpA4N-LDI7YQq_41NU1emKprjNa0F5HWJijIbzb4Id7-nzAXWjvy1WODniJqfF1AzJKfDVyyINKVcxILh8_brMLTGKwIB0enSsj-IMHc2fgjpNhT73iOQH_1wA430Azxe/s320/m-2-d.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Diana-Graves/e/B00713MMAA" style="text-align: left;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1011" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiau_SECxaOneF9P8p8Mq34S-d1xKIQDSmEoP56BRXhtHHEoPbKpkNCpMYlBFZ0gphHNmaYnkPCfDO1BdaMKyLX116PsGtMfLhQ37P8CKYjmDmo_Hzl5_ecDyiw80_GeAhaJMkNiVB1fq5Q/s320/1framed%2528g2%2529.jpg" width="201" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Diana-Graves/e/B00713MMAA" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="672" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_dQtmIgYpdnZDuC1IMJ5hGMof3sI7NcL8oK_NvJRgYQBniNdds22dZnD7w54jRtyVUM0UMTU3A-WmGIt7y7fuTPeBTOvJ6MinC_Y885ljQXXuSg7gCk3yLBv-skvIlscf9IpLOZ1lgtM1/s640/kindle123ad.jpg" width="448" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Diana-Graves/e/B00713MMAA" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1z0KMuaO84rbcYnkPc_lsufJOSzEMi_XSWq9THivYC7-x5GSY0OqUfdwQVqLzj04ae9mlNZ633mwprExqE__1H5qbsi2nqtt8-iO7B9MgCGL5vqqMxrqZAdSJ_afcASq_CdIkOJuxZlhg/s640/3+BOOK+REVIEW+WALL.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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2014</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt9L7TJXOGh6eIxfhVSgBzawrQRCeasJSlLh19cmDB3axSLeUAlPZLwlS-HW70f5U6-hxuIONC5RYFBooU-zbs44Pd0s7FuEsWT4mXAtnMqRIEGVeP9dsaGiILMoX5z0QutZy1g2MTu0LC/s1600/Collage+BOOKS+1-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="620" data-original-width="1600" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt9L7TJXOGh6eIxfhVSgBzawrQRCeasJSlLh19cmDB3axSLeUAlPZLwlS-HW70f5U6-hxuIONC5RYFBooU-zbs44Pd0s7FuEsWT4mXAtnMqRIEGVeP9dsaGiILMoX5z0QutZy1g2MTu0LC/s640/Collage+BOOKS+1-4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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2015</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh__nYsH_yBHKBBrrEcdm8KycCcF8sqmknm3j2mbYtpgig5nAS_gFTkQhYyIpKGsEV9XDgcrNLYwA7XUfiY0lN9N1ezxSiHZQ1wWJtEgOCwvND4-aj5A8Tx7HALhyphenhyphendXWzhr822xAqnZITwM/s1600/Raina-collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="595" data-original-width="1600" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh__nYsH_yBHKBBrrEcdm8KycCcF8sqmknm3j2mbYtpgig5nAS_gFTkQhYyIpKGsEV9XDgcrNLYwA7XUfiY0lN9N1ezxSiHZQ1wWJtEgOCwvND4-aj5A8Tx7HALhyphenhyphendXWzhr822xAqnZITwM/s640/Raina-collage.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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2016</div>
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2017</div>
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2018</div>
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What a wild ride AND, and there are covers I created but never used, too.</div>
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BUY THE RAINA KIRKLAND SERIES <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Diana-Graves/e/B00713MMAA" target="_blank">HERE</a>!<br />
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dianagraveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02348203289637454397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950146801179152906.post-54069822288286350342019-01-22T21:45:00.000-08:002019-01-22T21:45:05.621-08:00 Big Beautiful Original Painting<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Check out this Big Beautiful Original Painting for $200 on OfferUp<br />
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<a href="https://offerup.co/0J8FPXOHHT">https://offerup.co/0J8FPXOHHT</a><br />
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<div class="_18oatl0" style="-webkit-box-align: center; align-items: center; box-sizing: border-box; display: flex; margin-bottom: 0.75rem; position: relative;">
<h1 class="_t1q67t0 _1pqpkzn" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 20px; line-height: 28px; margin: 0px 0px 0px 0.75rem; overflow: hidden; text-overflow: ellipsis; white-space: nowrap;">
Big Beautiful Original Painting</h1>
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<div class="_1dkl0s9" style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.5rem;">
<a class="_g85abvs _1szq4a8v" data-name="market-info" href="https://offerup.com/explore/sc/wa/tacoma/" style="border: none; box-sizing: border-box; color: #00ab80; cursor: pointer; display: inline-block; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-right: 12px; outline: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">Tacoma, WA</a><div class="_1cdio1f" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block !important; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<span class="_147ao2d8 _149pqlo" data-name="delivery-info" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-right: 12px;"><div class="_11uidyww _17axpax" style="align-self: center; box-sizing: border-box; color: #00ab80; display: inline-flex; margin-right: 6px; position: relative; top: 0.125em;">
<svg fill="currentColor" height="16" viewbox="0 0 12 16" width="12"><path d="M0 6.182c0 4.714 4.856 9.82 6.02 9.82 1.163 0 5.98-5.106 5.98-9.82C12 2.768 9.314 0 6 0S0 2.768 0 6.182zM5.964 8.45c-1.255 0-2.272-.991-2.272-2.214 0-1.223 1.017-2.215 2.272-2.215 1.254 0 2.27.992 2.27 2.215 0 1.223-1.016 2.214-2.27 2.214z" fill-rule="evenodd"></path></svg></div>
Local pickup <span class="hidden-xs" style="box-sizing: border-box;">(6 miles away)</span></span><a class="_1uxr97ie _149pqlo" data-name="shipping-info" href="https://offerup.com/support/?return_to=/995506851/" rel="nofollow" style="border: none; box-sizing: border-box; color: #00ab80; cursor: pointer; display: inline-block; margin-right: 12px; outline: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank"><div class="_11uidyww _17axpax" style="align-self: center; box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-flex; margin-right: 6px; position: relative; top: 0.125em;">
<svg fill="currentColor" height="16" viewbox="0 0 15 16" width="15"><path d="M4.961 5.005l6.84-3.13 2.539 1.171-6.833 3.157-2.546-1.198zm-.66 1.254l2.781 1.31V16L0 12.57V4.236l2.775 1.306a.716.716 0 0 0 .09.065.705.705 0 0 0-.002.044V8.84c0 .39.322.706.719.706A.712.712 0 0 0 4.3 8.84V6.26zM.96 3.123L7.735 0l2.371 1.093-6.822 3.122L.962 3.123zM15 4.301v7.835l-6.481 3.45v-8.29L15 4.301z"></path></svg></div>
<span class="_g85abvs _17axpax" data-name="shipping-text" style="box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: inline-block; margin-right: 6px;">Ships for $7</span><div class="_11uidyww" style="align-self: center; box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-flex; position: relative; top: 0.125em;">
<svg fill="currentColor" height="16" viewbox="0 0 15 15" width="16"><path d="M7.5 0c1.354 0 2.607.336 3.758 1.008a7.483 7.483 0 0 1 2.734 2.734A7.323 7.323 0 0 1 15 7.5a7.323 7.323 0 0 1-1.008 3.758 7.483 7.483 0 0 1-2.734 2.734A7.323 7.323 0 0 1 7.5 15a7.323 7.323 0 0 1-3.758-1.008 7.483 7.483 0 0 1-2.734-2.734A7.323 7.323 0 0 1 0 7.5c0-1.354.336-2.607 1.008-3.758a7.483 7.483 0 0 1 2.734-2.734A7.323 7.323 0 0 1 7.5 0zm.816 8.75c.163-.272.558-.661.76-.833.715-.646 1.151-1.117 1.31-1.415.228-.377.343-.75.343-1.116 0-.725-.293-1.365-.879-1.921-.546-.516-1.29-.774-2.233-.774-.784 0-1.444.225-1.98.677-.536.452-.963.98-1.007 1.398-.045.418.112.947.785.947.672 0 1.207-.906 1.445-1.104a1.32 1.32 0 0 1 1.754.017c.219.219.328.452.328.7 0 .248-.065.452-.194.61a5.338 5.338 0 0 1-.647.626l-.775.655a2.92 2.92 0 0 0-.61.744 1.44 1.44 0 0 0-.194 1.06c.082.408.714.625 1.15.49.218-.069.48-.49.644-.761zm-.91 3.734a.92.92 0 0 0 .67-.29.92.92 0 0 0 0-1.34.92.92 0 0 0-1.34 0 .92.92 0 0 0 0 1.34.92.92 0 0 0 .67.29z"></path></svg></div>
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Posted 1 day ago in <a class="_g85abvs" href="https://offerup.com/explore/sck/wa/tacoma/arts-crafts/" style="border: none; box-sizing: border-box; color: #00ab80; cursor: pointer; display: inline-block; outline: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">Arts & crafts</a> • <span class="_147ao2d8" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block;">New (never used)</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-box-orient: vertical; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #4a4a4a; display: -webkit-box; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 24px; max-height: 168px; orphans: 2; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-overflow: ellipsis; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="subtitle block" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: block; font-size: 18px; font-weight: 700; line-height: 24px;">Description</span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-box-orient: vertical; box-sizing: border-box; display: -webkit-box; line-height: 24px; max-height: 168px; overflow: hidden; text-overflow: ellipsis;">Shy Lady is a 30"*40" black and white acrylic on canvas.</span><span style="-webkit-box-orient: vertical; box-sizing: border-box; display: -webkit-box; line-height: 24px; max-height: 168px; overflow: hidden; text-overflow: ellipsis;"><br /></span><span style="-webkit-box-orient: vertical; box-sizing: border-box; display: -webkit-box; line-height: 24px; max-height: 168px; overflow: hidden; text-overflow: ellipsis;">Below is the work in progress. I really wanted to capture the shape of the thigh and hair.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKYmt6h_v1-ya17wEpihze-PgFlFcNeR_oTjyXCyAseyvYjm5ajxxxVc-mkyXmiELWiFE6Ru9YvZ0kNogsh_pRK-b63Dt5S3IW8t5RtkgwwA96thLwqnmrlXAPVM7ZH8JkZi_nkEheik7A/s1600/IMG_20170523_012018_924.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKYmt6h_v1-ya17wEpihze-PgFlFcNeR_oTjyXCyAseyvYjm5ajxxxVc-mkyXmiELWiFE6Ru9YvZ0kNogsh_pRK-b63Dt5S3IW8t5RtkgwwA96thLwqnmrlXAPVM7ZH8JkZi_nkEheik7A/s320/IMG_20170523_012018_924.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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dianagraveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02348203289637454397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950146801179152906.post-37866466641494977152019-01-07T14:32:00.000-08:002019-01-09T00:26:13.560-08:00MY HOT FUZZ INTERVIEW<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;">Have you ever seen Hot Fuzz, a wonderful comedy staring Nick Frost and Simon Pegg? Well, you should if you haven't. It's one of my most favorite comedies ever! The comedy is both subtle and in your face, dry and slap-stick. Perfect. As you might know, I no longer work at SCC, Special Commitment Center for the rehabilitation of Sexually Violent Predators (not as scary a job as it sounds). I've been on the hunt for the next step in my career and last week I had the most wonderful job interview. It reminded me of this scene in Hot Fuzz...except, it was pleasant everywhere the scene was unpleasant. You'll see:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I came into the office and had a great interview with the recruiter, for a para-educator position. I mentioned in the interview that I would definitely be interested in advancing in my career to a behavioral therapist. The interviewer suggested that I speak with someone from the behavioral department now! So I did. She then suggested that I speak with another person who could perform a more formal interview. I had three interviews in one sitting...a Hot Fuzz like interview. I have been offered both positions. Para-educator for the first few months, and then I'm be trained to become a Registered Behavioral Technician (RBT) with ABA Therapy.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Orientation is in 2 days! I can't wait to start this new chapter of my life! </span><br />
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dianagraveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02348203289637454397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950146801179152906.post-60922339337019258952019-01-03T00:56:00.000-08:002019-01-03T00:56:01.166-08:00THE NEXT CHAPTER ISN'T GOING TO BE REAL<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="color: #073763; font-size: large;">The next chapter of my life sadly will not include working at the Special Commitment Center for Sexually Violent Predators...I'm on the hunt for the next step.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #073763; font-size: large;">Recently, I took a Career Assessment Test at Work Source and this was my results! I understand the first bit. My love of art and social services are high, they've always been high, 28% and 21%. That's why I was so happy working as a Rehab Counselor. </span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-size: large;">My enjoyment of office work and sciency stuff are pretty equal, 18% and 16%. That's why I love writing. It involves research, organizational skills and art!</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-size: large;">What caught me off guard was the enterprising...otherwise known as the job I did for 10 years (hospitality) and REALISTIC JOBS!!! LOL They scored so low! </span><br />
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<svg height="300" style="left: -0.5px; position: relative;" version="1.1" width="300" xmlns:xlink="http://www.w3.org/1999/xlink" xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2000/svg"><defs style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"></defs><circle cx="150" cy="150" fill="#ffffff" r="62" stroke-width="10" stroke="#a7abad" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"></circle><path d="M240,150A90,90,0,0,0,135.79281083810812,61.12843100227035" fill="none" name="Artistic" stroke-width="50" stroke="#a7abad" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);" tabindex="1"></path><text fill="#a7abad" font-family="FuturaBT-Light" font-size="35px" font-weight="bold" stroke="none" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); font-family: FuturaBT-Light; font-size: 35px; font-weight: bold; text-anchor: middle;" text-anchor="middle" x="150" y="132.5"><tspan dy="11.5" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">28%</tspan></text><text fill="#a7abad" font-family="FuturaBT-Light" font-size="15px" font-weight="normal" stroke="none" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); font-family: FuturaBT-Light; text-anchor: middle;" text-anchor="middle" x="150" y="167.5"><tspan dy="5" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">Artistic</tspan></text><path d="M135.79281083810812,61.12843100227035A90,90,0,0,0,60.33622591021478,142.22776634576903" fill="none" name="Social" stroke-width="40" stroke="#717677" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);" tabindex="1"></path><path d="M60.33622591021478,142.22776634576903A90,90,0,0,0,106.50584714240847,228.79250387695814" fill="none" name="Conventional" stroke-width="40" stroke="#4aa4bb" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);" tabindex="1"></path><path d="M106.50584714240847,228.79250387695814A90,90,0,0,0,191.2054494264541,230.0131922720493" fill="none" name="Investigative" stroke-width="40" stroke="#f2a900" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);" tabindex="1"></path><path d="M191.2054494264541,230.0131922720493A90,90,0,0,0,232.77205676187927,185.33817510014114" fill="none" name="Enterprising" stroke-width="40" stroke="#005b72" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);" tabindex="1"></path><path d="M232.77205676187927,185.33817510014114A90,90,0,0,0,240,149.99999999999994" fill="none" name="Realistic" stroke-width="40" stroke="#4f8193" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);" tabindex="1"></path></svg></div>
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28% Artistic</div>
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21% Social</div>
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18% Conventional</div>
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16% Investigative</div>
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11% Enterprising</div>
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6% Realistic</div>
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dianagraveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02348203289637454397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950146801179152906.post-23900491132843126432018-11-06T13:37:00.002-08:002018-11-06T13:37:47.506-08:005 STAR REVIEW FROM READER'S FAVORITE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong>5 STAR REVIEW FROM READER'S FAVORITE</strong></span></div>
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<a href="https://readersfavorite.com/book-review/fatal-retribution"><img alt="https://readersfavorite.com/book-review/fatal-retribution" border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1089" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeyP2Plx1z2u79CyK5z1xJKeCBqNMXPN9gG3JXv820Ww9Zvy1XdgPySWjBaBRLSQXJPZU3T6Er5vWxqsWqmrcjMIXsokPG_db0T1vQvF7Pq72q7YYR8t54peiKgB7wMVU0y1-Y5nPTaKOc/s320/2018+FATAL+wmedal.jpg" width="217" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Reviewed by <span>Asher Syed </span> for Readers' Favorite</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Fatal Retribution by Diana Graves is the first installment in the five-book Raina Kirkland series, which follows the titular character, a young woman - with a human father - who also happens to be an elven-witch hybrid. Raina is, by all appearances, a normal being with a strained family dynamic, similar to what one would expect in a YA series. However, while on a camping trip with her brothers, they are attacked and affected by a rogue</span> <span style="font-size: large;">vampire...and where all other infected become undead, Raina herself becomes a living vampire. The attack is wholly unprecedented as vampire activity is regulated, which puts Raina on the path to finding answers herself in a mission that uncovers corruption, details of her past, danger, and plenty of action along the way.</span><br /><br /> <span style="font-size: large;">Fatal Retribution is unique in that it imparts elements of realism into a popular genre. Diana Graves has created the society Raina inhabits as one where the species of creatures coexist in a sense, although the difference between what is dictated and what is actually adhered to is interchangeable, just as it is among cultures, races, and socio-economic clusters in “real life”. It's this realism and the human elements in Raina that give Graves' first entry in the series a fresh twist. Like all good coming of age stories, there is a budding romance and some angst thrown in, but the layered plot and character-driven narrative steal the show here. I'd recommend this well-written and engaging story to all</span> <span style="font-size: large;">who enjoy good paranormal young adult fiction. Fortunately, books two through five have already been released so there's no waiting time between reads for even the most ardent fans of the series.</span></div>
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dianagraveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02348203289637454397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950146801179152906.post-82096478029216981662018-10-21T18:18:00.000-07:002018-10-21T18:26:57.196-07:00THREE MONTHS LATER...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I haven't written a blog in forever, not since July. In truth, I've been distracted. I'm been painting more, working more and reading more. I've been a very busy lady!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Working 40+ hours a week on McNeil Island at the Special Commitment Center, where most of my stress comes from these days. I LOVE my job 90% of the time, but the 10% I don't is dark deep crazy shit! Given the job, that's to be expected...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I've been found out at work!!! Oh no, my secrets, LOL. They know everything now, I'm a painter, and now I must/get to paint at work! I'm so happy to combine my love of counseling and art! I wish I could post pictures of my work here, but I signed a nondisclosure agreement and everything. :-( No sharing... Sorry</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I attended a masquerade in Olympia Washington, where a painting of mine was being auctioned off for charity.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I also took my family camping on Mount Rainier and hung out</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> with one of my best friends, Erin!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Busy lady, indeed. I have 10 days to meet my deadline for Zombie Book 2!!!! I'm not close enough to done to feel comfy about that at all... </span></div>
dianagraveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02348203289637454397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950146801179152906.post-53942992683989097492018-07-27T12:25:00.000-07:002018-07-27T12:25:04.248-07:00FULL DISCLOSURE <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Yeah...Full Disclosure, I'm high<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Full Disclosure works on another level; this blog is about how I write a novel and publish it. Let's hope I can manage it under the influence... </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">I was recently asked "How did you write your books and get them published? Like, what inspired you to write them?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">It starts with a desire to create and communicate. All art is a desire to create something...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">8 hours later:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Nope, nope, I can't write while under the influences...I tried. LOL </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">The first part of the question wa<span style="background-color: white;">s,<b> <span style="color: magenta;">how did I write my books</span></b></span>, is best answered by another question. How do you get to Carnegie Hall? <b><span style="color: lime;">Practice, practice, practice.</span> </b>Start small. Write your daydreams, write a chapter, write a little here and there. When I first started writing I wrote different genres and didn't finish the first three books I started, but the fourth book I wrote from beginning to end...it took me years, but I did it. There's no quick and easy way to write, you just write and you write a lot. Eventually, your distinct voice, your writing style will develop. Keeping a blog is a good way to get that practice and build your audience. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Write and read,<b><span style="color: lime;"> read a lot. </span></b>Writers need to be readers, in my opinion. Always have a book in your bag that you're currently reading, fiction or nonfiction. I feel that reading helps maintain a strong inner monologue and sense of sentence flow. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">What's the <span style="color: lime;"><b>Big Idea</b></span>? You have to have one. What are you trying to accomplish? What are you trying to explore? When I started writing <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Fatal-Retribution-Raina-Kirkland-Book-ebook/dp/B006OVUZUO/">Fatal Retribution</a> my big idea was to take an innocent young woman and turn her into someone capable of killing a man. For the longest, I was studying serial killers. I couldn't quite wrap my mind around their motives so I found them fascinating. With just that idea I knew my beginning (innocent lady) and I knew my ending (she kills a man). I just had to fill in the middle bits...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: lime;">Write what you know.</span></b> Every writer, whether it's fiction or not, writes from personal experience. Again, when I started writing <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Fatal-Retribution-Raina-Kirkland-Book-ebook/dp/B006OVUZUO/">Fatal Retribution</a> I started the book off with a camping trip on Mount Rainier because I've had a good number of them in my life. I gave my innocent leading lady many of my own characteristics. I gave her siblings that reminded me in small ways of my own and a familiar family dynamic, that certainly did not mirror my own precisely, but was equally problematic. For years I've wanted to write a nonfiction book about Rape Culture because it feels like a great big underlying theme of my life and now, heck, I work at a rehabilitation center for violent rapists...nice -_- </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">So, yeah. How did I write my books? By writing a lot, reading a lot, having an idea and leaning hard on my own experiences... </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">The second part of the question. <span style="color: magenta;"><b>How did I get them published?</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">That was a frustrating road to be sure. Normally the process is such: for fiction, you start by writing the book. Then you write a query letter which you send out to literary agents, whose job is to find you a publisher. You can try to cut the middleman and send your query letter directly to a publisher, but most publishers will not let you do this. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Here is an example of a query letter:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;">This query letter was sent out when Fatal Retribution was called Into Darkness and Mortal Sentry was, The Hunted...I kind of still like the old titles and the old description...</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;">Date: 1.21.2010</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;">PMA Literary & Film Management, Inc</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;">kelly@pmalitfirm.com</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;">Dear Kelly Skillen,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;">In a world of gods and monsters, a young witch will give up everything to bring a man once blessed by the god Apollo to justice…her brand of justice.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;">Raina’s life has never been easy, being a bastard and a mixed breed always makes things harder. But when a man starts selling a deadly disease on the street as a cure-all her life takes a turn in a dark direction. The disease this man is selling is highly contagious. It will cure you. Yes. But it will also kill you.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;">Raina finds herself and her brothers at the mercy of the disease, but strangely it only kills them. Her beloved brothers’ lives lay in ruin amongst those of countless others, and she can no longer trust Seattle PD to bring the man responsible to justice.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;">In the end it’s up to Raina and those who would fight at her side to slay an immortal of ancient legend gone mad. She cannot save those he’s wronged, but she can avenge them, she can stop him. Even if doing so changes her forever. Her family will forsake her, strangers will praise her, and ruthless men will take her in as a kindred spirit.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;">If you are seeking dark paranormal fantasy look no further. Considering all that I’ve read of you and your agency, I believe you are exactly the agent I want to have representing me in selling my first novel, INTO DARKNESS. The novel is complete at 130,000 words and I am interested in your evaluation of its commercial potential and any constructive criticisms you might offer.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;">Into Darkness is the first book in a series, I’m halfway through the second novel, working title, THE HUNTED, and I have story ideas for at least three more books. I can email the completed manuscript or a portion of it at your request.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;">Thank you for your precious time and your consideration. I eagerly await your response.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;">Kind Regards,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 18px;">Diana Graves</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">From 2009 to the end of 2011, I sent hundreds of these letters out to agents and publishers, each one tailored to their unique requests. Some wanted a full outline of the novel. Some asked for the first three chapters. Some wanted the entire novel physically mailed to them with special instructions...For two years I did this. I could have covered every wall in my house with their rejection letters...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So traditional publishing wasn't working for me. Vanity publishing is always an option...but it's called vanity publishing for a reason. Vanity publishing is basically publishers that will take almost any novel anyone writes, edit it for a price, format it for a price, make a cover for a price, market it for a price and you pay out of your pocket for all they do. This road is for the wealthy...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">What I ended up doing was Indy Publishing. There are many places you can go for indy publishing (Barns and Noble for one) but I like Amazon the best. Of course, when it comes to Indy Publishing you are in charge of getting your book edited, formatted, cover designed and marketing. Thankfully I'm a total control freak and enjoy doing all of that myself. I'm not the best editor so I do hire outside help for that bit, but I'm pretty good at formatting a novel and designing its cover. Amazon also has free tools on their publishing website for all that jazz. Marketing is the thing I'm super bad at doing and haven't been able to bring myself to outsource just yet.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The third part of the question was, <b><span style="color: magenta;">What inspired me to write them?</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I have a few answers for that and I'm not sure which is more right than the others. I could tell you that my mother was a very stoic woman. She worked multiple jobs at times to raise her many children alone, and when she was home her face was always in a book. I had a great desire to please her, but everything I did never felt like enough. Part of me thought that if I wrote books, at least her face would be stuck in my book...but alas, she won't read them...sadness. Another reason I write is because I've always been an artist. Painting, acting, drawing. Writing is just another way to communicate something pregnant with emotion, something that takes the reader on a journey...Yet another reason I write is to get that story out. Many people have a story inside them, not just writers. So many times, very often, in fact, I'm told by people who find out I'm a writer that they themselves have a story inside them that they wish they could write, but they don't write it because the act of doing so seems so daunting! Writing a novel is intimidating. It's frightening. It's walking through a ballroom full of everyone you know and complete strangers, buck naked with a smile on your face. It's a bold and cocksure move that leaves you open to severe criticism and immense emotional pain...but, like giving birth and raising children, it's worth it more often than not. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I hope this helps.</span><br />
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dianagraveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02348203289637454397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950146801179152906.post-81580908221618495112018-07-14T06:17:00.000-07:002018-07-14T06:17:03.460-07:00ZOMBIE BOOK 2: CHAPTER 5<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;">The new chapter 5</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> of book 2. (a work in progress) Remember, these are not finalized chapters. Shit may change...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">If you haven't read chapter 1 <a href="http://dianagraves.blogspot.com/2018/04/the-zombie-book-2-chapter-one.html">PRESS HERE</a></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "domine"; font-size: 72pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">ZOMBIE</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "domine"; font-size: 72pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">2</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "domine"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">The Zombie Book Series</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "domine"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">By Diana Graves</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Copyright © 2018 Diana Graves</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">All rights reserved.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Kindle Edition</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: large;"><span style="font-weight: 400; white-space: pre-wrap;">Diana brushed off her near-rape and the death of her friends almost instantly. She seemed in high spirits as she hummed a Christmas song while gathering up all the weapons and ammunition from around the dead. I watched her for a moment. She dashed and nearly skipped around the whole scene like a child, throwing what she took into the back seat of the car. I shook my head and turned to gather my bags.
“You want to take the truck?” she asked me with my back to her.
I turned to face her. She was standing by the car. “Uh, yes, thank you.”
“Thank you! That could have ended very badly,” she said.
I put my hands out, gesturing to the bodies on the ground. “I think it did.”
She looked down with a pout on her lips and a furrowed brow, like she was trying to think too hard. Then her big brown eyes shot up at me in realization. “Oh you, mean because those men died! Yup, happens all the time. The men always die.” She shook her head in disappointment. “They’re like the red shirts on Star Trek, well, not the Next Generation one, but the original, you know?” She shrugged her shoulders. “Too eager I guess.”
“What?”
“The men. They’re too eager to fight each other. Those men,” she pointed to the truck. “These men,” she pointed to those bodies near the car.
“What was going on here?” I had to ask.
She bit her lip and went cross-eyed for a moment. “Where to start? Um, in the beginning,” she said with a deep manly voice. “Nah, that will take too long,” she said in her normal voice. “These shit heads call themselves, ‘The Pride.’ They are fucking ass holes. They cage and rape women and they steal supplies and food from other survivors. They kill all the men and take all the women,” she said while pointing to the dead bodies by the truck.
“These guys,” she said pointing her thumb back toward the car, “Are okay. They call themselves, N.W.O for new world order. They have a lot of high and mighty principles and rules. Very democratic, very hoity-toity.”
“You’re not part of the N.W.O.”
“God no! I picked these guys up off the side of the road on my way back to the base after a supply run. Then these ass hats started chasing us down for my supplies and here we are. That’s what I get for picking up strangers…” She looked at the truck and pointed to the broken solar panels. “Looks like the truck might be out of commission. You want a ride?”
I gave her a cocked eyebrow. That would make getting to the other side of the peninsula way faster. “Yeah. Just let me grab my gear.”
“Cool. I’ll pull the car around.”
I stared after her for a moment while she jumped in the car and tried to maneuver around the bodies to turn the car around. She failed once or twice, running over an arm and a head, which broke open like a watermelon. Once she had the car facing the opposite way, she looked at me with a toothy grin and gave me a thumbs up. Okay.
Five minutes later we were racing down deserted country streets heading east.
“So, you’re not from around here,” Diana said. “I know everyone here and you, I’ve never seen before.”
“Yup, I’m new.”
“You took a boat to get here, huh? I mean, you had to have because the entire south of the peninsula is overrun with pirates. They don’t have a name for themselves or any real leadership. They’re just this huge group of men and women who are fucking crazy. Evil like The Pride and loony like the Toons.” I had to smile at the way she talked. “No one would survive a stroll through their territory.”
“I guess I don’t look like one of them either,” I said.
“Oh, hell no, you do not. First of all, you smell them before you see them. They smell like shit and piss and b.o. And they look just like their smell. They fuck anything and everything. I think they escaped from Western State Psychiatric Hospital. They just, their nuts and they look nuts. I don’t think they could pass for normal.”
“You think I look normal?” I asked without thinking.
Diana looked at me and then the road a few times and then she frowned. “Now that you mention it, you do look off. Bloodshot eyes and pale skin, like really pale. Are you sick?” The look of concern on her face was almost full panic.
“No, no, nothing like that. I’ve just been in an underground bunker for...a while.” Quick thinking and not technically a lie.
“Oh, you’ve been in a bomb shelter all these years!? That explains everything. Well, there are zombies all around us. That sucks, but what’s more dangerous are the people who didn’t die or become undead. People are the worst!”
“You live alone then?”
“No way. My people are the best people. We call ourselves N.E.O, or just Neo.”
“Which stands for?” I asked after a long moment of silence.
“Never Eat Octopuses…No, kidding, it’s New Elite Order. N.W.O used to be part of us, but we had some disagreements about the power dynamic. They wanted a democratic process, but we agreed that people are too easily scared into stupidity and the most qualified person may not always be the most popular.”
“So you have a dictatorship?”
“No, a republic. Those with the most level heads and experience have a seat at the table. Those people decide who leads in what areas and everyone has a job based on their skills.”
“What’s yours?” I asked.
“I’m charged with documenting events, like a history person type thing. I write about everything that happens. I document everything, you know, for prosperity.”
“And you were out here picking up hitchhikers alone because...why?”
Diana’s face went serious all of the sudden and I didn’t like it. She had the type of face that needed a smile or it just didn’t look right.
“Our system isn’t perfect. No ones is. Weaker people just don’t always get a fair shake...We have a diabetic person. He’s a great man, so funny. You’d love him if you ever met him,” she smiled at the thought of him. “But, he needs meds and meds are in short supply these days. No one would approve a med run. Everyone is convinced there are no more meds. We’ve cleaned out all the drug stores, clinics, nursing homes, home homes. But then it hit me, Feline Diabetes! Vets would have insulin, so I made my case for a run but I was denied.”
“So you went anyway,” I guess.
“Hell yes, I went anyway.”
“You’re people going to be mad at you?”
“Duh, but they’ll get over it. I am loved,” she smiled widely at the road. “Where am I taking you anyway? What’s the destination?”
“As close to Seattle as you can get me.”
She looked at me with wide eyes full of shock. “You don’t want to go there.”
“Why?”
She shook her head. "There’s more than zombies, more than bad people, there are true monsters in Seattle. Thank god they haven’t figured out how to cross the water, and neither should you. You can come home with me. You seem badass enough. You’ll be a good addition to Neo.”
“That’s a nice offer, but I need to get to Seattle. I need to at least try.”
A moment of silence stretched between us before she spoke again. “Give me one night to catch you up on all the things you’ve missed while you were in your bunker and if you still want to go to Seattle tomorrow, I’ll take you to the Bainbridge waterfront myself.”
I rolled my eyes. What could I say but, “yeah, sure.”
She perked right up. “Yeah! Sleepover!”
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dianagraveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02348203289637454397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950146801179152906.post-80316165523756654682018-07-11T13:43:00.002-07:002018-07-14T06:20:22.865-07:00ZOMBIE BOOK 2: CHAPTER 4<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;">The new chapter 4</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> of book 2. (a work in progress)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">If you haven't read chapter 1 <a href="http://dianagraves.blogspot.com/2018/04/the-zombie-book-2-chapter-one.html">PRESS HERE</a></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "domine"; font-size: 72pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">THE</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "domine"; font-size: 72pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">ZOMBIE</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "domine"; font-size: 72pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">BOOK</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "domine"; font-size: 72pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">2</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "domine"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">The Zombie Book Series</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "domine"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">By Diana Graves</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Copyright © 2018 Diana Graves</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">All rights reserved.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Kindle Edition</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather";"><span style="font-weight: 400; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">AS I pedaled away from the shore two things became painfully obvious to me. One, Gerald would never see me as anything but a monster now and two, I sure as hell wasn’t going to pedal clear around the entire fucking peninsula to reach Seattle. My legs were killing me and I was slowly taking in water, so however small it was, there was definitely a leak somewhere in the boat. Instead, I headed straight across the water toward Frenchman’s Cove. Racing toward the setting sun, soon to be hidden behind the silhouette of tall evergreens. If I was lucky I could find shelter before full dark.
About an hour into my journey, I saw a small family of otters in the distance splashing and playing, and the sight of them softened my hardened mind for a moment. The temptation to reminisce about a more innocent time was too great to push away and I soon found myself smiling dumbly at the memory of my late husband and I having a date at the Point Defiance Zoo. We were holding each other tight while we watched the otters play in their large outdoor tank. My smile turned into a deep frown. What happened to all those captive animals at the zoo? Starved to death most likely.
It was darker than I would have liked by the time I reached the cove and my legs were spent. I was hoping for some superhuman strength to go along with my zombie infection. You know, a little superhero bull shit would have been nice, like Spider-Man. No such luck. I got one plus, zombies didn’t eat zombies. I also didn’t feel as cold as I should have. It had to have been in the low fifties, but I felt comfortable in nothing but jeans and a t-shirt.
“Might as well make camp here and start fresh in the morning,” I said to myself after pulling the pedal boat onto the shore.
Eight hours later I watched the sunrise from across the water while drinking a cold cup of instant coffee. I was sitting with my back against a tree and my bare feet on the grass. I had a map laid out to my right and Karen’s zombie book in my lap. I’d read and reread the book throughout the night. I wanted, needed answers but for all she knew about the virus, she didn’t know shit really. She knew about the drug, its chemical structure, but she didn’t know how or why it became a virus or why it affected some people differently. God, I could only imagine how fucking excited and curious she would have been about my condition if she were still alive. Fuck.
I set my cup down beside me and grabbed a pen out of my bag. I needed to document myself. What do I call this, what I am now. Zombie 2.0? I wrote that at the top of the page in big bold letters. Underneath I wrote, “The first thinking, none rotting, none cannibalistic zombie”….but aren’t those the characteristics that make a zombie a zombie? Can I even call myself a zombie? I have the disease in me, but it’s not being expressed the same way. I decided to start with the facts. As they say, just the facts, mam. Time for some serious self-evaluation.
Erin Poe, entry 57. Day 782
Zombie 2.0: Despite a zombie infection, she has clear thoughts and human emotions. She has all the needs and desires that any none infected human would. Except, she doesn’t feel cold or sleep as much and other zombies ignore her. Her skin is almost translucent. All major veins and arteries are visible and her eyes are bloodshot.
I looked inside my bag at the apple Pane had packed for me and even though I hadn’t eaten since yesterday, I wasn’t hungry in the least. So, okay, reduced appetite was another side effect. Of course, these are all symptoms of stress and trauma so only time would tell if anything I was experiencing was permanent.
I shoved the zombie book back in my bag and with my pen, I traced the best possible route to the other side of the peninsula, where I hoped to find another boat to take across the water. I spared a thought for taking the pedal boat with me, but no. It was heavy and bulky and it would only slow me down.
Frenchman’s Cove led me to a nature reserve and Boyce Creek ran straight through it. I followed the creek until I reached a sharp southward bend. According to the map, that meant I was out of the reserve and needed to leave the creek and keep heading East. Not long after leaving the creek I found a large farmhouse. No one was inside it, just dusty furniture and empty cabinets. It was clearly cleaned out a long time ago. But I searched it all the same. I tried to avoid looking at the pictures on the walls and shelves. These people were probably dead and they probably died badly. When I came to the master bedroom I threw my bags on the king sized bed and went to the dresser. Clean socks and underwear were like gold to me. Precious things. I shoved as many pairs as I could in my bags before heading to the master bathroom and checking the medicine cabinets. I didn’t really expect to find anything useful. If someone cleared out all the nonperishable food they sure as shit cleaned the house out of all it’s first aid supplies, too.
When I opened the cabinet a bottle of baby powder fell out and landed on the counter in a giant fluff of baby scented white. My hands and front were covered with it and instinctively I reached for the sink’s faucet. I almost jumped with surprise when water came out.
“Fuck!”
Well water, I guess...I looked to the shower and smiled. After pedaling across the water and hiking through the nature reserve, I was beyond in need of a shower. Quickly, I tore my clothes off. Standing naked, I washed them in the sink using a bar of soap from my bag. I hung the clothes over the door to the master bathroom, giving zero shits that it would make the floor wet as they drip dry. I climbed into the tub, and using the same bar of soap, I took a freezing cold shower. Again, I could tell that the temperature should have bothered me, but it didn’t. I just didn’t feel cold the way I used to.
I was letting the water run down my body when I heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire. I turned the water off and walked swiftly out of the bathroom and across the bedroom to the window. At first, I didn’t see anything but trees and a neighboring house down the road, but I could still hear the gunfire. It didn’t sound far off. I had to get out of there. The last thing I needed was people. People are rarely good these days. More often than not, they are evil fucking bastards because rapists and murderers thrive in lawless brutal times.
My clothes weren’t dry yet. I didn’t expect them to be. I was planning on hanging around for a while. Not anymore. I left those jeans and the shirt behind, but I put on the bra as wet as it was and grabbed some cargo pants and a black tank top from my bags. I was dressed and packed and running out the door when a car raced down the road in front of the house. The Fuck?
The car screeched to a stop at the end of the road and five big men and a woman with long bright auburn hair jumped out with their guns pointed back down the road. I looked back the way they came and sure as shit, there was another vehicle coming up fast. It was a black truck, two men inside and three in the back of the pickup. As soon as they came in range they started shooting at the men and woman standing their ground. I should have bolted right then while everyone was good and distracted, but it was like watching a train wreck. I couldn’t look away.
Right off the bat one of the men in the back of the truck was shot in the head by one of the men standing by the car and using it’s opened doors as a shield. Two of the men by the car were shot down as the truck came to a stop a good distance from the car. I didn’t see who from the truck had made the kill but while I was looking at them I noticed a large solar panel on the top of the truck. They’d converted it to electric! The car was probably an electric as well. Smart.
The auburn haired woman took aim and shot the driver of the truck as he exited the driver’s side door with a shotgun in his hand. The passenger of the truck shot at her but missed and she ran for cover across the road. The remaining three men from the truck advanced on the car at a run. One of them was shot dead. Another one, a big guy wearing jeans tucked into cowboy boots, busted the man who shot his friend in the face with the butt of his rifle, then quickly grabbed him and used him as a human shield while he and the other only remaining truck man shot the last two car men. Then the cowboy threw his human shield to the grown and shot him dead, too.
“Diana!” the cowboy screamed out.
The other truck man, a hunched over tan guy with slicked black hair circled the car in search of Diana, the auburn-haired woman I guessed...
“Come out here. Your men are dead! They had to die, but you know our policy on women, Miss Thing.”
The hunchback looked back at the cowboy and smiled. “We’ll treat you real nice,” he said loudly and in a voice that matched his appearance, high pitched and weasley.
“I’m not going to be one of your fucking kept woman!” I heard Diana yell before she popped out from the side of the road and shot the hunchback in the chest.
The cowboy ran up on her before she could turn the gun on him, and he tackled her to the ground. She put up a good fight, but in the end, all she could do against his massive strength was scream angrily at him while he held her down. Was he going to rape her right then and there? I couldn’t stand by and I couldn’t walk away from that. I dropped my bags, pulled out my long knife and started at a run toward them.
“Get the fuck off of me, fucking bastard!” she screamed as he picked her up with her arms tied behind her back. He was forcing her back to his truck, but she was fighting every step.
“I’m not a fucking breeder. Kill me now, fuck face. Kill me!” Diana yelled in his face.
“Nah, I lost four good men on this run. I’m taking you and your supplies back with me.” He pushed her up against his truck and tore her jeans down with a quick jerk. “But, I think I’ll take it out on your ass right here and now.”
“Fuck you! You fucking small dicked ass-face. Fuck you! Don’t fucking touch me!” she screamed.
He slammed her head against the truck angrily, a hard hit for every word he said, “Shut-the-fuck-up, uppity-bitch.”
She fell on the ground, not unconscious, but not able to do or say much. The cowboy pulled her panties down, revealing her naked ass, which he tenderly pet and lightly slapped before standing up to unzip his own jeans. Diana was moaning her pain as she tried to turn and look up at the asshole standing over her. I saw blood on her forehead as I ran upon them. She turned her head my way, seeing me coming and smiled. He had his erect penis out and in his hands when he finally turned and saw me coming at him, but it was too late. I stabbed him in the stomach before he could say a word. I pulled the knife out and stabbed him again and again as he fell against his truck. His large blue eyes were fixed on me with confusion and pain. Blood erupted from his mouth and I stabbed him one last time for good measure. I could feel my blade hit something hard, probably his backbone. I watched him die and I had to admit, it was a rush. I was breathing heavily and staring at the man’s corpse when Diana interrupted my daze.
“Little help?” she asked in a quiet voice.
I shook my head. “Yeah.” I bent down and cut the thin rope that bound her wrists together and then backed up and gave her space. I was thinking about just walking away right then and there but I wanted to really meet this woman, Diana. There was something about her that drew me in. I watched her get up off the ground and pull her panties and pants up. She steadied herself with a hand on the truck and held her head.
“Thank you,” she said to me without looking up at me, but at the blood on her hands that came from her head wound.
“I hate rapists,” I said.
She did look up at me then. Her brown eye seemed almost a rich amber the way the sun hit them. Her face was a contradicting mess of features. She had a youthful face full of freckles and even skin, but her eyes gave her away as someone older. Her eyebrows were thin, arched and mischievous, but her lips were pale and pouty and just as freckled as the rest of her. All of this was perfectly framed by a long mess of rich auburn hair, which shined in the sun like an orange-gold thing.
“You, too,” was all she said, revealing a gap in her teeth and I felt instantly protective of this woman, who was both strong and fragile, young and old. Strange. She kicked the dead cowboy’s body and giggled when it fell over. “He died with his dick in his hands,” she laughed. I smiled.</span></span><span style="font-size: 18.6667px; font-weight: 400; white-space: pre-wrap;">
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><u><a href="http://dianagraves.blogspot.com/2018/07/zombie-book-2-chapter-5.html"><br /></a></u></span></span>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><u><a href="http://dianagraves.blogspot.com/2018/07/zombie-book-2-chapter-5.html">Read Chapter 5 Now!</a></u></span></span></div>
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dianagraveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02348203289637454397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950146801179152906.post-46635636072913971242018-07-11T11:42:00.001-07:002018-07-11T11:44:32.742-07:00Everything is Awsome<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;">So, it's been near a month since my last post. Well, I'll tell you what's going on. First, that man who rear-ended me totally got away with it 100%. He knew that it's not a hit and run if you give the person you hit your phone #, so that's what he did. What good that does me, ZERO. He won't give me his insurance info and no one will help me, not the police and not my insurance company. This guy, Mark Williams of Olympia Washington is a total loser a-hole. On the possibly bright side, if there even is one, my health insurance company wants to know who is responsible for my ER visit since I listed the cause of my injuries as a car accident. I'm going to tell them everything and give them all of Mr. Williams information. If they want to go after him for the $2,000 plus medical bill, well that would be just swell.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik3cwGjrHqWbumV-YFxsEdSFRAVvNypem-FdN7LYfI3ZqBRMPz-NHYCkhwhe5MJA1CRc74NECRje0BT4yvoxPUL03_EePNFBJ5QrvZ23lWDGtIWWznO05iP2h7ZDGpWrLQf3c463-hMfAV/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="187" data-original-width="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik3cwGjrHqWbumV-YFxsEdSFRAVvNypem-FdN7LYfI3ZqBRMPz-NHYCkhwhe5MJA1CRc74NECRje0BT4yvoxPUL03_EePNFBJ5QrvZ23lWDGtIWWznO05iP2h7ZDGpWrLQf3c463-hMfAV/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Otherwise, work has its ups and downs. Other than that, there literally isn't much I can say about the SCC...really, I signed a nondisclosure agreement, so yeah...I'm a writer and the most interesting part of my life, the place I spend 10-18 hours a day at, the rehab facility for Violent Sex Offenders...that place, I can't talk about. I'm having trouble writing my 2nd zombie book because my overactive imagination is saturated with the oddity that is my day job, and I can't do a dang thing about it. LOL</span><br />
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Zombie-Book-ebook/dp/B076L4P736/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1056" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQCm7eKsYJnK9KMB5_Jp9mykm4jifxEAf7WYoEyv77IXQkzUb1gQ4MQBNVfo3FSQYoRJxEju8sPnkuOh6XSc6KNZKPAK7qG38Na1eu5D2N1r4TdMlc7Zy7a7ee3pIC0yH9uVStOknOu5pD/s320/The+Zombie+Book+2.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">As for the second Zombie Book, it's a crawl to the finish line. The finish line being October 31st, the planned publishing date. Which means it needs to be done way before then to be edited properly and the cover designed...I'm hoping to post the 4th chapter to this here blog shortly. It's a good thing I'm writing shorter novella's of late. With just 15 chapters planned, I'm a 3rd of the way through.</span><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Raina-Kirkland-5-Book-Series/dp/B01M8HID3A"><img border="0" data-original-height="822" data-original-width="1044" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcAaBuqz3Ua9YGQanPga-yDnnWuMDWaegGthWxaDNqIEGioi-_CFh2BOuh9F3Dwh9bMmO-l0ylbQLj-OLaDVTa1aXQq9VC7yLC0V1JKMZ6OvASak7XkOViHpFZ40uPQQarwps9DHmCi8ki/s400/IMG_20170408_083004_860.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Even though the Zombie Book is slow going, that doesn't mean I'm not writing. It just means it's hard for me to keep my head in it. I am also writing my sexy book, the erotic novel. It will be a full novel of some 300 to 400 pages, so yeah, I'm still busy. I won't say working where I work doesn't make it hard to write that kind of sexy business though. It does. I'm hypersensitive to unbalanced dynamics in relationships, toxic shit. So you won't see any of that creepy Bella/ Edward shit. Or that totally fucked up 50 shades of gray crap. I'm not saying it's all good clean well-adjusted relationships. I'm just saying that that kind of obsessive, toxic, possessive behavior and sexual violence will not be glorified in my sexy time book.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Well, that's me for now. Thank you for reading and I love you!</span><br />
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dianagraveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02348203289637454397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950146801179152906.post-2472855765666323432018-06-07T13:41:00.000-07:002018-06-07T13:41:12.042-07:00REAR-ENDED ON MY WAY TO WORK...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">On Tuesday I was rear-ended on my way to work. I thought I was okay, but halfway through my shift my legs started cramping on me. Only walking helped but I started having mini panic attacks throughout my shift. My appetite was gone. I forced myself to eat an apple and then cried myself to sleep...I had no idea why I couldn't stop crying...</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzSx-HBLLR5VewG7hyphenhyphenjtMtQC2x_S8JbUHv57DSnDa8Sbs2oYF5QgAlhz21OYu3q8jfj1EM-BWNV43DPj2Fh6ZpjVBpAmr0KynGcTsO3IhD_YPMRr93NKMb38KSBAnXmJrwLteOJCuuWXwu/s1600/34509110_1979446868732309_8237413060847861760_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="714" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzSx-HBLLR5VewG7hyphenhyphenjtMtQC2x_S8JbUHv57DSnDa8Sbs2oYF5QgAlhz21OYu3q8jfj1EM-BWNV43DPj2Fh6ZpjVBpAmr0KynGcTsO3IhD_YPMRr93NKMb38KSBAnXmJrwLteOJCuuWXwu/s320/34509110_1979446868732309_8237413060847861760_n.jpg" width="238" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">On Wednesday I still had no appetite, but I forced myself to eat a sandwich. I had a massive headache all day at work, and pain pills were not helping at all. My legs and back ached and I couldn't go for a walk while at work...so it just got worse and worse and so did my mood. My head was throbbing by the time I left work. I wanted to punch something and cry and I didn't understand why my emotions were so uncontrollable. I hid away on the boat and cried the whole way across the water. (I work on an island...)</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I managed to stop crying when I got off the boat but once inside my car I started crying uncontrollably again and hyperventilating. While driving home I still couldn't stop crying, I couldn't focus, the pain in my legs, head, and back was too great. My husband drove me to the ER when I got home. I was a puking aching mess! </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">4 hours later the doctor said my bones and spine are fine, but my muscles are pulling, bunched up and inflamed. He said my body was releasing tons of chemicals like adrenaline, which when not used (<i>walking</i>) caused panic attacks. And then when the adrenaline wore off I plummeted into depression (<i>uncontrollable crying</i>) I know I looked a mess at work... But I'm on muscle relaxants and anti-inflammatory drugs now. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Hopefully this pain doesn't last and hopefully the guy who hit me doesn't try to hurt me some more by ignoring me...He's a small business owner and asked that I not call the police or insurance company. I'm not about hurting people over accidents so in my shocked and panicked state of mind I agreed...we'll see. I'm not trying to get him to pay for the ER visit, just my trunk and tail light. Fingers crossed he's a good person. </span></span></div>
dianagraveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02348203289637454397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950146801179152906.post-59631165038494846592018-05-21T12:18:00.001-07:002018-05-21T12:18:31.365-07:00Fuck That Guy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">My daughter has an awesome sense of fashion all her own.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">But for weeks now she's been complaining about a boy at school who makes fun of what she wears to the point that she's not wearing her favorite clothes anymore. She makes a mental note of everything this little boy says to her and adjusts accordingly. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">These past weeks I told her to ignore him. That his opinion doesn't matter. That she should be herself. That she'll never make everyone happy, no matter how much she changes for them...none of that sunk in. </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhf-oSHZtlFw5PWmUH8dAvFCGGswu63_dk1R2KK_2Tt9daOl_dKr3_06TimOWodUl2E55zetNrXPDAf6X4OU62k1NVJADrXqdFWEukZcMKa0ryr0axb7FJFFgj6V6BYoB_-iScqYZBCkXH/s1600/LOVE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhf-oSHZtlFw5PWmUH8dAvFCGGswu63_dk1R2KK_2Tt9daOl_dKr3_06TimOWodUl2E55zetNrXPDAf6X4OU62k1NVJADrXqdFWEukZcMKa0ryr0axb7FJFFgj6V6BYoB_-iScqYZBCkXH/s1600/LOVE.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">This morning I had enough! I told her flat out, this boy is garbage. His brain is full of shit and piss and that's all that comes out when he talks, shit and piss...like a slashing bucket of feces. Don't let his ignorant shit talk mess with your style. You're fucking beautiful.</span></span><br />
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dianagraveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02348203289637454397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950146801179152906.post-48833694597579879562018-05-19T17:30:00.000-07:002018-07-11T13:46:11.892-07:00ZOMBIE BOOK 2: CHAPTER 3<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;">The new chapter 3 of book 2. (a work in progress)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">If you haven't read chapter 1 <a href="http://dianagraves.blogspot.com/2018/04/the-zombie-book-2-chapter-one.html">PRESS HERE</a></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "domine"; font-size: 72pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">THE</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "domine"; font-size: 72pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">ZOMBIE</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "domine"; font-size: 72pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">BOOK</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "domine"; font-size: 72pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">2</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "domine"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">The Zombie Book Series</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "domine"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">By Diana Graves</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Copyright © 2018 Diana Graves</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">All rights reserved.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Kindle Edition</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">♦</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: red; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 24pt; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">TRITON </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">was less of a town and more just a series of homes along the road that traveled adjacent to the Puget Sound, but the boys were right. It didn’t take me long to find a boat. In fact, I found a few. Covered by a moldy blue tarp was a small speed boat sitting beside an abandoned a-frame cabin. Even though the engine was solar powered, it didn’t look like it would run so I wasn’t surprised when it didn’t. The other two boats I found were overturned and encompassed by thorny vines near the water.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Gerald pulled out his knife and began cutting away at the vines that covered the larger of the two boats. I set my two bags down and looked out over the water at Frenchman’s Cove. Triton is parallel to Seattle but there’s a large arrowhead shaped landmass between the two, the Kitsap Peninsula, also known as the Great Peninsula. The path Derek drew out for me on the map had me traveling around the peninsula, far north and then coming back down. It seemed like a waste of time, but I understood his reasoning. Less traveling by land means less zombie encounters. Safety. Talking about zombie safety, there was a sound that caught me attention just then, a wrestling of leaves, a breaking of twigs, maybe thirty or forty yards away...</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I told you. You need me,” Gerald said as he hacked at the vines, pulling them away with a gloved hand.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yes, I could never have cut those vines all by my lonesome. Whatever would I have done without you?” I said with a deadpan face and quiet voice as my eyes scanned the woods that surrounded us.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Ha-ha,” he mocked. “You say that but who’s doing the cutting and who’s staring off into la-la land?” </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Shut up.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He stopped cutting and looked at me happily confused. “Did I offend you? I thought you were supposed to be a badass.” He shook his head and ripped through the last of the thorny vines with a chuckle and a grunt.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You need to shut up because I think I heard something.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Gerald flipped the boat over with a quickly beefy motion. “Let’s try the motor,” he said.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“No,” I said firmly. “There’s movement in these woods. I think something is coming, some thing</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">s</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Zombies? I don’t hear anything.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Good for you. I do, though.” I looked down at the boat he’d overturned. It was a small fishing boat with a large gas motor on it. It looked like it had some gas in the tank, but one of the blades was broken.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Broken blade,” Gerald pointed out. “But it will probably still function, that is if the gas is still good after three years. Gas has a shelf life of only a few months. If it’s an ethanol blend, then maybe a year.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“So it’s a bust. What about the other boat? It looks like a peddle boat.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“It is, but I want to try the bigger boat first. It can fit both of us and our gear. Plus, our legs will get fucking tired of peddling quick.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Hey,” I said and I put my hand on his arm to stop him from pull-starting the engine on the bigger boat. “You’re not coming with me. I agreed to let you come with me this far, but only one of us is getting in a boat. Me, just me.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Erin, you have to admit that you need me. You can’t-”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Stop,” I said and I tightened my grip on his arm, but he pulled the engine’s cord to spite me. Thankfully and predictably it didn’t start. The gas in the tank had gone to shit years ago. Even still, the engine made a loud go of it before failing. I stared at the woods, listening carefully. Nothing. Maybe it was animals I heard before? I let out a breath of relief. “Fuck! What’s your problem?”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I don’t like that you’re just leaving, just like that, just fucking chasing some goddamn idea of saving humanity.” His usually jovial face turned mean too suddenly for me to keep up. “This is fucking stupid, Erin. You’re being fucking stupid! You’re not thinking right because you’re scared. You’re running away and it’s bull shit! And everyone knows it. You’re being a fucking coward. Let’s go back to the bunker, back to your son.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I forced myself to look into his angry judgmental stare. It wasn’t easy because part of what he said was true. Being in that bunker, infected as I was, was hard. I felt like a trapped animal, feared and pitied. Maybe it was stupid to think there were still scientists alive in Seattle, and that my peculiar infection could help anyone or anything. It was very likely I was wasting my time, that this was a suicide mission I concocted because I had to tell myself that I could make this all mean something when it meant nothing. In fact, maybe he was one-hundred percent right about me and what I was doing. Maybe I was running away. As doubt filled my eyes, Gerald moved away from me. He grabbed up my bags and started walking back toward the bunker, thinking he’d won. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Come on. Let’s go home.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">For a moment I thought I’d follow him but there was movement in the woods and I knew it wasn’t animals this time. It was zombies moving in on us.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Stop!” I shouted at Gerald before he moved too far from me. He stopped and looked back at me with angry eyes. A zombie was coming at him and he didn’t even see it. It looked recently dead, hardly any rot on him. Maybe a day...It still had its lips and eyes intact. I pulled my machete out of my belt and ran at it.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Hey!” Gerald yelled as I chased toward him, obviously thinking I was attacking him and not the rotting thing behind him. He dodged out of my path and I brought my machete down on the zombie’s head. I pulled it down to the ground and freed my machete from its skull with a foot on its head and a quick yank. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh,” Gerald said.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“They’re everywhere,” I turned on the spot, looking at the woods around us. “Fifteen or more. It’s a horde!”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I can smell them but I can’t see them. Where are they coming from?”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mostly the south, but there are a few coming from the west and north.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“They surrounded us? Are we dealing with intelligent zombies again?” Gerald panicked.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“No, I don’t think so. The zombies from the north smell like sea water, like they crawled out of the Sound. The zombies from the west look fresh, like the one that attacked you. Those from the south smell like they are long dead, just bloated rotting things. Three different groups are converging on us. Probably following the sound of that fucking engine you tried to start.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Gerald gave me a dirty look before he pulled out his gun and knife, preparing for the zombies that were walking toward us slowly.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“We can outrun them and make it back to the bunker. They’ll follow us, but with Derek and Pane we can take them out easy,” Gerald said.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You run back to the bunker, I’m heading to Seattle,” I said and I turned and ran back to the vine-covered peddle boat. Gerald had cut up the vines so completely that I pulled the boat out with relative ease.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Erin!” Gerald shouted. I looked back to see him cut into the skull of one zombie and then another. A third western zombie rambled out of the forest, falling on the ground and not knowing how to get up. It struggled like a turtle on its back. Gerald walked up to it and jumped on his head, breaking it like a rotten pumpkin after Halloween. The two zombies from the Puget Sound, soggy meat sacks, no hands, pale skin and half eaten, probably by fish, were crawling toward Gerald with seaweed and fish netting dragging behind them.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Fuck!” I said as I moved toward them. I didn’t want to move closer, but I did. I got close enough to see the barnacles growing on the exposed bone. I cringed as I slashed downward into the face of the closer zombie with, slicing through fluid-filled skin, brittle bone and rancid brains, which erupted upward like black water from a whale’s blowhole. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The other sea zombie ignored me completely and moved toward Gerald, whose back was turned as he watched the southern horde moving in. I approached it from behind, stabbing it in its fat head, more careful of the blackened brainy eruption that followed. Nasty.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I looked up when I saw Gerald moving in my peripheral vision. He was backing away from the advancing dead. I looked back to find them close and moving closer, a truly gruesome sight. These poor souls had been rotting for at least a year. Their lips were all but gone, eaten away or shriveled to nothing, leaving their broken teeth bare to the world, like a permanent snarl. Their eyes were either bloated with pus or wrinkled into raisins. Their stench choked me as they walked right past me to get to Gerald. They didn’t want me? They knew! Somehow they knew I wasn’t food anymore. I was one of them. I was a zombie!</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Erin!” I heard Gerald shout. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I looked back at him with wide eyes and I could feel the hot tears fall down my cheek before I realized I was crying. It shocked me, woke me up from my feelings, brought me back to what was happening around me.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Gerald was still backing away from the advancing dead, but he was looking at me; shocked and reluctant to leave even though I was safe and he was clearly outnumbered. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I could have killed them all without a fight, cut all their heads open, but that sounded like exhausting work so I ran instead. I ran back to the larger boat and pulled the red gas tank out of the hull and began dumping it on the zombies. Gerald must have figured out my plan because when I looked for him, I found him digging in my bags, hopefully looking for my easy-light matches Derek packed for me. He needed time though, so I ran ahead of them and started cutting into the horde to keep them off of Gerald.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I got them!” he shouted.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Give them to me!” I yelled without looking back. I put my free hand out, palm up, expecting him to put the matches in my hand. He did. “Go drag the peddle boat into the water,” I ordered while he seemed so obedient. He ran toward the boats.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It took a few matches before the whole group was on fire, but I managed it and to my surprise, I didn’t get burned. Because the zombies were still after Gerald, even while on fire, I had them following me as I ran toward him and the water. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He was standing in the water, bent over the peddle boat and looking at me with an expression I couldn’t read. I stomped into the water fast and took my bag off his shoulder and he let me as he watched the burning zombies start to fall to the ground mere feet from us.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I looked back at them. “I guess the fire got to their brains. Hotheads.” I chuckled at my little joke, a joke that needed to be made because shit was getting too serious. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You’re a zombie,” Gerald said.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I looked at him and then back down at the boat because for the first time he looked scared of me like the other. “I need to go and you’re not coming with me.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“No, I’m not,” he said and he dropped the second bag he was still holding into the boat and walked back toward the land, where the zombies were still burning, but no longer moving, no longer undead. Gerald looked back at me once he was on dry land and a few feet away from the zombie bonfire. He waved goodbye. I didn’t. I climbed into the boat and began peddling away.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="http://dianagraves.blogspot.com/2018/07/zombie-book-2-chapter-4.html"><br /></a></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="http://dianagraves.blogspot.com/2018/07/zombie-book-2-chapter-4.html">read chapter 4 now!</a></span></div>
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dianagraveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02348203289637454397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950146801179152906.post-19404396472975943502018-05-07T12:41:00.001-07:002018-05-19T17:49:02.663-07:00ZOMBIE BOOK 2: CHAPTER 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;">The new chapter 2 of book 2. (a work in progress)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">If you haven't read chapter 1 <a href="http://dianagraves.blogspot.com/2018/04/the-zombie-book-2-chapter-one.html">PRESS HERE</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Damn, my new job at a rehabilitation center for sexually violent peoples is far too distracting to keep a normal writing schedule. That's something I have to work on. It took me months to get around to actually writing this chapter, and it can't be like that. I promise myself, from now on I will write at least a chapter a week. I've done all the research. I've planned every chapter. Now all I need to do is sit down a write them. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "domine"; font-size: 72pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">THE</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "domine"; font-size: 72pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">ZOMBIE</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "domine"; font-size: 72pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">BOOK</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "domine"; font-size: 72pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">2</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "domine"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">The Zombie Book Series</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "domine"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">By Diana Graves</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Copyright © 2017 Diana Graves</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">All rights reserved.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Kindle Edition</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: red; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 24pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> felt jostled awake by another nightmare. That wasn’t uncommon for me. I’d been having nightmares ever since I watched my husband die right in front of me. He was a diabetic but we’d been hiding in our home for months while zombies rampaged outside our walls. His glucose was low and so were our rations. He guilted me into eating so I would keep producing milk for Christopher, while he practically starved himself. I was breastfeeding Chris on our bed by candlelight when he walked into the room clumsily and fell to the floor and began seizing. I climbed off the bed, leaving our infant to cry out for me. I held him while he shook violently, but just as the seizure passed and he opened his eyes and looked directly at me, he blacked out and never woke up. In my nightmares, he either woke up and began screaming at me for letting him die or he turned into a zombie and tore Chris apart.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I hopped down from the gurney and turned the lights back on in Karen’s office. I opened Karen’s black zombie book and reread a note of her’s that had been bothering me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Doctor Duskin, entry 30. Day 560 since U.W. incident. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">None of these local zombies are anything like the patients we saw in Russia. The earlier infected were violent but they never tried to actually eat anyone...bite yes, but not consume. And the pattern of rot is different also. The local zombies have general rot all over their bodies, while the earlier versions only rotted at sites of infected injuries, like patches of gangrene. This is a drastic evolution. Gangrene could possibly travel through the bloodstream, but what could cause obsessive-compulsive hunger for raw flesh?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“What indeed?” I said aloud to no one. Good to his world, no one had bothered me in days and I found myself regretting the request. I missed people...Just not enough to reach out to them. As much as I wanted someone else to talk to, I didn’t want to be forced behind the glass again, like some kind of fucking prisoner or animal. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’d taken over Karen’s zombie book, adding my own notes from all that I’d seen during the first three years of the outbreak. Such as how they liked to travel in groups and seemed attracted to sound, even when their ears had rotten away...Then I turned to the internet. Yes, we had internet access. It was limited, but the whole world hadn’t gone to shit, just a few choice places...From the CDC’s own website, I took notes on what they’d shared about the zombie outbreak. They reported that the disease was evolving around the world in different ways. In some areas in the Middle East, the infected were growing extra limbs. The idea of a zombie with four arms was fucking disturbing! In South America, the infected were growing larger, like long and lanky giant zombies. Fuck! I guess I should consider us in the US lucky for now. But so far there was no mention of a thinking zombie. It seemed I was the only one. Now, if only there was a way to communicate with the CDC. Unfortunately, the US Government decided in their infinite wisdom that those inside the infected zone could see the internet, but not interact with it in any way whatsoever. No emails, messages, chats, posts, tweets, comments or video uploads of any kind were allowed. I had no way of letting the world know about me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">The door opened and Pane walked into the room saying, “Morning,” cheerfully. I got out of my seat immediately and moved to the metal door. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You forgot to let me know you were coming in,” I said as I moved to shut the door between us, but Pane put his hand on the door.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“It wasn’t a mistake,” he said. “Blimey,” he breathed as he looked me up and down. “You look bloody awful.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I know.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You’re not hungry for me, are you?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I scoffed, “You’re a cute little Brit, but I prefer taller men.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Pane rolled his eyes. “I volunteered to come in unannounced to see if you were a flesh eater. Clearly, you’re not. Derek and Gerald and I agree that you should come out of here. It’s been far too long. If you were going to lose your mind you would have done it by now.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve always been a procrastinator.” Pane laughed. “How’s Chris?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“He’s great.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Great?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You know, playful and learning how to be a normal kid again.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">A normal kid? “He was never a normal kid before. Normal kid’s don’t have zombie moms.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Pane shrugged. “Such are the times we live in.” I eyed Pane thoughtfully. “What is it?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I do need to get out of here.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Fantastic. I’ll let the others know,” he said with a smile and a clap of his hands. “We’ve missed you.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“No, I mean that I need to get out of here. Out of the bunker. I need to go to Seattle.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">He blinked his pretty eyes at me several times, trying to think of what I said and what he should say maybe. “Why? What’s in Seattle?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“The University of Washington and maybe someone who could use my blood to help. There could also be more people like me, thinking infected.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Pane held up his finger as if to make an argument, but instead, he turned around and walked out of the room altogether. While he was out I started packing. I didn’t have much to pack in here. A couple changes of clothes that Gerald had brought in to me while I slept last night. He was pretty good at keeping me in clean clothes. Today I was wearing ill-fitting blue jeans and a green t-shirt. I packed a toothbrush, four water bottles, and the zombie book into a black bag that had once held some spare lab equipment, which now on the floor. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Derek walked into the room. He looked down at the bag and then back at me. “Come into the common area,” was all he said before he walked away, leaving the door open. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">With my bag hiked over my shoulder I followed him down a wide hall, which appeared very much like I’d imagine a submarine looked like on the inside. There were metal tubes running along the walls and bare lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling. Every door, including the one I just walked through, was a huge metal thing, like a bank’s safe door. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">The common area of the bunker was a living room, dining room, garden and kitchen all in one open space. Chris and Sarah, Derek’s teenaged daughter were sitting together on the couch watching an old movie, Willy Wonka, and the Chocolate Factory. Chris didn’t notice me when I entered the room but Sarah did. She looked nothing like Derek. Her skin and eyes were a lighter shade of brown than his. Everything about her was delicate while everything about Derek was large and imposing. Her eyes widened at the sight of me. I smiled to try and ease her obvious fear but otherwise chose to ignore her and gave the </span>living room<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"> my back as I approached the dining table where Derek sat beside Pane. They were looking down at a map that was unfolded on the table. I glanced at Gerald, who was rummaging through the kitchen cupboards.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Where are we?” I asked Pane and Derek.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Derek pointed to a red mark on the map inside the Olympic Rainforest. “We are here, just a few miles west of Triton. It’s a small town on the Puget Sound. Almost everyone who lives there has a boat. You’re bound to find at least one available.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Looking down at the map, Seattle was almost parallel with Triton. “Smart. Taking a boat through the Sound will be faster than walking or driving around,” I said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Safer, too,” Gerald chimed in with his head in a cupboard.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“But, I’ve never driven a boat before.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Pane got up and opened a cupboard near the dining table. He grabbed a two-way radio out and set it on the table.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You’ll take one of these with you. When you find a boat, radio us and we can look up the specs over the internet and talk you through it.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Awesome possum. How far can these radios reach?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“The box they came in said up to thirty-six miles, but we’ve found it’s closer to twenty miles, less if there is any kind of obstruction; buildings or mountains,” said Pane.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Gerald set down two large bags. “Weapons and food.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I looked at the bags with wide eyes. “There is no way I’m caring three large bags from here to Seattle.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You carry one and I’ll carry the other two,” Gerald said. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I’m going alone.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You can’t-” Gerald started to say but I stood up abruptly and he stopped. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I’m going alone,” I said again and my voice held demand and authority in a way that made me sound alien to even me. To his credit, Gerald met my stern glare with his own, but he didn’t argue with me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I set my own bag on the table beside the two he packed. I opened all three bags. His two bags were actual tactical gear and not simply storage for spare equipment so I emptied everything out of my bag and made some room in one of the other bags by taking out half the food Gerald had placed in it. Looking down at the weapons bag in thought, I decided against guns. Guns just attracted undead and people. Both were not desired. I grabbed a couple knives and tucked them in with my food and clothes. I zipped the bag and put the strap over my shoulder, crossing my body.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Is that all you’re taking?” asked Derek.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I grabbed a machete from the weapon’s bag. “Yup.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You’ll need a rain poncho, belt, and good boots,” said Gerald.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“That would be nice. And a spare sleeping bag if you’ve got it.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You got it,” said Gerald.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Say goodbye to your son,” Derek suggested. I looked at Chris. He was engrossed in Willy’s Factory. If he hadn’t noticed me yet, I could easily slip away without scaring him with my ugly mug. “You’ll regret it if you don’t.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Damn it. I knew he was right. I pulled my dark hair back and tied it into a knot on my head while I walked to the couch. I sat down beside them. Sarah looked at me with </span>caution<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Chris?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Christopher didn’t look up at me. He placed his head in my lap and smiled. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You scary Mommy,” he said. “You a zombie?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yes,” I said with my lips curled into a sad smile. I was happy to hear his vocabulary expanding but sad that he spoke the truth.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I love you.” </span>Heartbreaking<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">! I’d never heard him say those words before.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I love you, too. I have to go, but I’ll be back.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Okay,” he said and he sat back up and looked at me. “I safe here.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yes, you are.” I kissed the top of his head, taking in a deep breath and forcing myself to memorize his smell.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Chapter 3: <a href="http://dianagraves.blogspot.com/2018/05/zombie-book-2-chapter-3.html">PRESS HERE</a></span></div>
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dianagraveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02348203289637454397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950146801179152906.post-66977948052894011512018-04-15T03:10:00.000-07:002018-04-15T03:10:19.428-07:00SEX IS HARD...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;">So I love writing sex. It's fun and great and if I want my husband to be <i>good to go</i>, all I have to do is ask him to read this bit I just wrote because I'm just not sure...bingo bongo (Hehehe, I'm a sneaky gal) For a long time I've wanted to write a novel or novella in the genre of Erotica. Just the idea of a book full of those fun bits makes me smile. But...I gots problems. Poop.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I don't actually read Erotica because I find it not entirely empowering to women. Not that I would really know, but I feel it's all sappy Horny Prince Charming shit or Slap-Happy Mr. Grey abusive bull shit. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I've thought about writing about what if Prostitution were legal in a very liberating and open minded healthy way...But there really is no way prostitution as an institution could be very healthy. There's always abuse. I'm pretty big on research and I do not recommend googling prostitution around the world and throughout history. It's just disgusting and sad.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I moved on to well, what if some fun-loving friends just decided to spouse swap and then I could have a bit of fun writing about all the awkward first-time sex between friends. It would be so weird. The comedy writes itself but...why though? Why would a group of friends do that? And what would happen if one couple was gay? Eh, sex is complicated, fun but complicated. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Maybe in the future I'll write an erotic novel, but I think I'll just focus on zombies for now. I have a rule in my zombie books, No Sex. That's just gross... </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAOCTBbjE0ooD_bvJbJzEUhseBEAwFPUUzMoHPV4qrdYEDfi47TVSgpKzQC3iEecW-_8cFBPN7l2zh7QUaTuIXjMC4nnOcEgua48fX5YeNaVeDHCAvrjXSQdSheDgJ6_9clFF3C1WgvfPa/s1600/bc1..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="800" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAOCTBbjE0ooD_bvJbJzEUhseBEAwFPUUzMoHPV4qrdYEDfi47TVSgpKzQC3iEecW-_8cFBPN7l2zh7QUaTuIXjMC4nnOcEgua48fX5YeNaVeDHCAvrjXSQdSheDgJ6_9clFF3C1WgvfPa/s400/bc1..jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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dianagraveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02348203289637454397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950146801179152906.post-77655403844584729062018-04-10T10:23:00.000-07:002018-04-10T10:23:28.532-07:00Human Error<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;">One of my biggest regrets...well, I have a bit...But in <i>writing</i>, I regret skipping ahead in time in </span><span style="font-size: large;">the Raina Kirkland Series</span><span style="font-size: large;">. I wish I hadn't done that. Some of it couldn't be avoided since the story was told by Raina, so if she wasn't there she couldn't tell it...like Nick's time spent with a secret Canadian tribe of vampires, or Katie coming into her own and getting married. But, there was a butt load of time in Raina's life that I for whatever reason didn't write, but mentioned only... </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLGyTstBh2HKdOUyT1JorAuRvZ5R-3XbKTgy4D9FdAUMk22De_y32PRGUoqsBhx2uOBAunjKhd01oMlGIy6OSlg8FffYM4eF1ciwI2aAYzR_yvn1mQlDmqmLFHrTg5EOak8RFs2PjoitFQ/s1600/books.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLGyTstBh2HKdOUyT1JorAuRvZ5R-3XbKTgy4D9FdAUMk22De_y32PRGUoqsBhx2uOBAunjKhd01oMlGIy6OSlg8FffYM4eF1ciwI2aAYzR_yvn1mQlDmqmLFHrTg5EOak8RFs2PjoitFQ/s400/books.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">For example, the 2nd book (Mortal Sentry) has a prologue that skims through what could have been an entire novel by itself...Raina's first official paying job as a monster hunter. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">After fighting a war alongside witches, vampire, police and the trolls of Washington State (end of the 2nd book) Raina finds herself bombarded with requests for help with supernatural creatures. She turns down all offers until she receives one from Black Diamond, Washington, where a necromancing witch is reanimating corpse and attacking the town's children, tearing them apart and leaving their bodies in the trees like Christmas tinsel.... I've often thought of going back and actually writing that book instead of just mentioning it as a segway into the 3rd book, which starts where that gory first job ends...but even in the beginning of the 3rd book (Grave Omen) the first chapter is an extension of the conclusion of the Black Diamond's fiasco, but then shoots 8 months into the future in the 2nd chapter! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">In those 8 months that had past, Katie (her sister) had to drop out of high school because the bullying got so bad she tried to kill herself and Raina had to hunt down a warlock pedophile, who she caught in the act and killed on the spot. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">That's two full novels that haven't been written, only described briefly in the novels that were written... Regrets.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm9XBmqkmdwt-W-4AN5H9lxRhaX2-kDEWP__JbjLjb65Z4_ta1cxH13ic8RjuuNsFsi8-vbufqIseg9wSCxNm6lWiWXOGehH1NiXuVK9brAqM2ZFqhK-ZdeGlyWnXPnxQj0KlIhl3eV6TC/s1600/BLACK+DIAMOND.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="958" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm9XBmqkmdwt-W-4AN5H9lxRhaX2-kDEWP__JbjLjb65Z4_ta1cxH13ic8RjuuNsFsi8-vbufqIseg9wSCxNm6lWiWXOGehH1NiXuVK9brAqM2ZFqhK-ZdeGlyWnXPnxQj0KlIhl3eV6TC/s320/BLACK+DIAMOND.jpg" width="191" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2dCHokoWgzbshyphenhyphenks9F1-dK9ZeLWRBtKOPuKQ6vEiiSU8mZMFBaJqbU3fqoWd5ZvQ0IhFWeVHRtwzffTaj17ggrzv_md0AL4artmERzWMhel7W23x9C2wL0CMpyN2bszZZ9VGlJ87QPXBo/s1600/KILLING+YOU.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="963" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2dCHokoWgzbshyphenhyphenks9F1-dK9ZeLWRBtKOPuKQ6vEiiSU8mZMFBaJqbU3fqoWd5ZvQ0IhFWeVHRtwzffTaj17ggrzv_md0AL4artmERzWMhel7W23x9C2wL0CMpyN2bszZZ9VGlJ87QPXBo/s320/KILLING+YOU.jpg" width="192" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I don't want to make that same mistake in the Zombie Book Series I'm writing. A while ago I posted chapter 1 of book 2, but after stewing it over I've decided not to skip over Erin's trip to Seattle. My plan for The Zombie Book 2, was to start it with Erin returning home after a long time out traveling the zombie world, but why would I not write that book?!?! Erin made her way from the Olimpic Forest all the damn way to Seattle, discovers something horrifying and decides she must return home immediately. There's a terrific adventure there. I can't leave it behind like Black Diamond and Killing You, so Chapter 1 of Book 2 is now Chapter 1 of book 3. I will post chapter 1 of book 2 as soon as I post this block. <a href="http://dianagraves.blogspot.com/2018/04/the-zombie-book-2-chapter-one.html">Press Here</a> to get there.</span><br />
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dianagraveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02348203289637454397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950146801179152906.post-3215391600521256162018-04-10T10:22:00.001-07:002018-05-07T12:42:20.096-07:00THE ZOMBIE BOOK 2: CHAPTER ONE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;">The new chapter 1 of book 2. (a work in progress)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Also I have two working covers...let me know what you think. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifJoxIO-nYKOxHsZqNQiO1SjGzHE7JcQtzI6GGAk3b6WJyFZMyTQfLofFvrBSvSIiumfWXyvG2WzPorpuytzkZxpKFQiQtgHp7iS4B4qthNG2RT_18QsCbVMDea3sOIuo4Q4l1dbprwaep/s1600/z2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifJoxIO-nYKOxHsZqNQiO1SjGzHE7JcQtzI6GGAk3b6WJyFZMyTQfLofFvrBSvSIiumfWXyvG2WzPorpuytzkZxpKFQiQtgHp7iS4B4qthNG2RT_18QsCbVMDea3sOIuo4Q4l1dbprwaep/s400/z2.jpg" width="270" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgit5R20rjfFIkMXntEundJlGmSslH0Pmo_UowRM7jmkPeDPB6nJRop03wXtQIwqbooMmt2UKh_yDgZgMEJDuSlMWczLYl-KYquPFZ8dR5qk2UPJBe3eZ1_7geme4wsf52NH8APpEsku7on/s1600/ZOMBIE+BOOK+2+DRAFT+COVER.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1083" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgit5R20rjfFIkMXntEundJlGmSslH0Pmo_UowRM7jmkPeDPB6nJRop03wXtQIwqbooMmt2UKh_yDgZgMEJDuSlMWczLYl-KYquPFZ8dR5qk2UPJBe3eZ1_7geme4wsf52NH8APpEsku7on/s400/ZOMBIE+BOOK+2+DRAFT+COVER.jpg" width="270" /></a><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "domine"; font-size: 72pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">2</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "domine"; font-size: 13.999999999999998pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">The Zombie Book Series</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "domine"; font-size: 13.999999999999998pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">By Diana Graves</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 13.999999999999998pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Copyright © 2018 Diana Graves</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">Red lights strobed, bringing the world into and out of existence to the beat of my heart, crashing around my chest with fear.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">“SHE'S BESIDE YOU!” someone shouted at me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">I looked to my right and there she was, a wretched zombie crouching near me. She was bathed in red light but only for an instant. Then darkness again and I shot in her direction but she tackled me down with the unrelenting strength and persistence of the undead. I kept shooting even when I felt her teeth sink into my shoulder. I screamed through it and when the red lights came back on and I saw that I shot her stomach full of led. She was covered in blood. Her mouth was full of my skin and muscle. In close corners, I wedged my gun between us. I shot her point blank in the head.</span></span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 7.2pt; margin-right: 7.2pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“DO</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">you need or want anything?” Gerald asked me from behind the glass wall that separated us. I shook my head from the memory of the attack, but I couldn’t meet his eyes because I knew I’d see pity in them and I couldn’t stand to see it. I looked down at my hands instead and thought inward. I’d just been infected with a deadly disease. What was happening to me? I could see every large vein or artery under my skin and as hysterical as I felt, as fast as my mind was racing, my breathing was shallow and my hands were very still. They should have been trembling. Why weren’t they shaking? Shock?</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 7.2pt; margin-right: 7.2pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Just take care of my son,” I said without looking up at the men standing in front of me. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 7.2pt; margin-right: 7.2pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">Derek put his hand on the glass. I looked at it and not at his face. “You need time to process what just happened to you. We’ll leave you alone. I’ll unlock the door to this side of the room, so you’ll have access to all of the doctor’s research...if you want it, if you think it will help.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Thank you.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 7.2pt; margin-right: 7.2pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">“We’ll keep an eye on you on the monitors,” said Gerald.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 7.2pt; margin-right: 7.2pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">Pane tucked his long black hair behind his ears. He hadn’t said much since he came in the room but he looked scared and sad...I could only assume he was scared of me and sad for having just lost his friends, William and Karen. I didn’t know Will and Karen, as well as the boys, had. All I knew of them was that Will was a charming man-child and Karen was his grandmother and a scientist who knew the disease was coming long before the rest of the world. She warned everyone she could, but she was labeled a lunatic. The only people who listened to her was her grandson and his friends. Together they built this amazing bunker out in the middle of the Olympic rainforest. It was completely self-sustaining. It was a marvel, really. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 7.2pt; margin-right: 7.2pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">The boys left the room without another word spoken. I stayed where I was standing in front of the glass for a moment or two before walking to the metal door that separated the two halves of the room, one a medical examining room and the other a cozy office full of books, lab equipment, and jars housing zombie parts. I looked down at the floor where it happened. The blood was gone now, but just there I was lying in front of the door when Karen infected me with this curse. I couldn’t really be mad at her though. She was a zombie at the time. I crossed my arms and held myself tight. I knew then that the memory of my infection would haunt me forever.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 7.2pt; margin-right: 7.2pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">My brows pinched in confusion as I recalled the event again. She was a zombie and now so was I, but we weren’t exactly what you would call the typical undead. Up until her infection, zombies were just mindless rotting biters. As soon as they were infected they began rotting away and turned violent, consumed with blind hunger. Karen wasn’t that. Not entirely. She became infected while studying zombies in her lab. Not the smartest thing she could have done, but she seemed determined to find out what caused the disease to mutate the way it did. It would seem it mutated again. It must have evolved inside her because zombie Karen wasn’t mindless at all. Sure she was a violent hungry rotting bag of bones, but she tricked us! In a show of intelligence never seen before, she waited until I was alone and then attacked me when I couldn’t see her. That took a lot of planning, too much for the dead. And here I was, for the most part still alive. I was changed but to what degree? I didn’t know. Looking at myself in the mirror revealed darkened skin around my eyes, which looked scary, even to me. My skin was damn near translucent and I had this unsettling calm about me, but otherwise, I was still me. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 7.2pt; margin-right: 7.2pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">Looking around Karen’s office, the first place my mind went was to her personal notes on the disease. It was on the shelf, a thick black notebook she titled The Zombie Book in bold black marker on white tape. I opened it to the first page. In the worst handwriting I’ve ever seen she wrote, Center for Disease Control Global Health Department at the top of the page. </span></span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 43.2pt; margin-right: 7.2pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">Doctor Karen Duskin, bioengineer with the CDC tasked with understanding and curing the curious matter of Naz-Konrta, a Russian drug turned virus.</span></span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 7.2pt; margin-right: 7.2pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">Below that statement was a hand-drawn diagram of the Naz drug’s molecular structure...I wasn’t a scientist so they were just a bunch of connecting hexagons and pentagons as far as I could tell. After looking at a few pages of shapes and letters in what looked like a completely alien language, I flipped forward to the middle of the book. The pages were blank? I moved back a few pages until I saw writing again. Her last entry into her zombie book. </span></span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 43.2pt; margin-right: 7.2pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">Doctor Duskin, entry 55. Day 779 since U.W. incident. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">I’ve injected Naz into five men in less than twenty-four hours. Every infection followed the same pattern. Seconds after the injection they began to rot and behaving aggressively. I have one more man to experiment on. Instead of using disease samples gathered from the local population, I’ve decided to use the last of my samples from the University. Perhaps an earlier strand of the disease will yield different results.</span></span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 7.2pt; margin-right: 7.2pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That was her last entry? The man she was about to inject was an evil son of a bitch who deserved it, but when she injected him with the sample from the University she was hoping something different would happen and something different </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">did</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> happen. U.W. The University of Washington was in Seattle. Naz came from Russia, but its entry into the U.S. was through Seattle. Could there be other’s who didn’t completely turn, like me? Or could my blood be the key to a cure or vaccine? Where there still scientists in Seattle, more members of Karen’s team?</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 7.2pt; margin-right: 7.2pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Erin,” spoke Derek’s voice of the office intercom. “Please move back behind the glass.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 7.2pt; margin-right: 7.2pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">I looked back up at the camera they were monitoring me through and I didn’t want to do as he said. I gave them a mean scowl but I moved slowly back through the metal door and closed it behind me. Only after the door was secure did Derek come into Karen’s lab and Gerald at his side. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 7.2pt; margin-right: 7.2pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">“I know, I get it, I do! But please don’t treat me like I’m a fuc-,” I had to stop myself because my little boy, Christopher came in sheepishly behind them. He was three-years-old with soft mousy brown curls and bright blue eyes that melted my heart. “Chris, honey.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 7.2pt; margin-right: 7.2pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">“He wanted to see that you’re okay,” said Gerald.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 7.2pt; margin-right: 7.2pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">“I-I am, honey. I’m fine, I’m just a little sick. That’s why I have to stay behind glass for now. I don’t want to get anyone else sick.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 7.2pt; margin-right: 7.2pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">Chris eyes filled with tears. “No, Mamma, no, no, no,” he said.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 7.2pt; margin-right: 7.2pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">Chris didn’t know how to talk well. He didn’t know a lot of words...He knew: no, yes, Mamma and zombie. That was my fault. I spent so much time teaching him how to be quiet, and close to no time teaching him anything else.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 7.2pt; margin-right: 7.2pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">My hands clutched my stomach because I desperately wanted to hold my baby. He was the only thing that kept me going the past three years since the outbreak. I’d been beaten, stabbed and raped more times than I care to recall, all for him. I would have put a gun to my head a long time ago, but I didn’t because of him. I needed to protect him. He needed me...I needed him.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 7.2pt; margin-right: 7.2pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">I bit my lip to stop myself from crying. It took much to force myself to smile, but I managed it.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 7.2pt; margin-right: 7.2pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">“I’m going to be just fine as soon as I can be.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 7.2pt; margin-right: 7.2pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">“No Mamma,” Chris said and he hid himself from me behind Derek. He wasn’t scared for me. He was scared of me. “No Mamma!” Chris cried out.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 7.2pt; margin-right: 7.2pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">I turned my back on them. I’d forgotten that I didn’t look like myself anymore. Veiny skin and sunken eyes, I looked dead without the rot! No wonder he was scared. My poor baby.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 7.2pt; margin-right: 7.2pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Please take him out of here!” I yelled. “I love you. Mommy loves you. I’ll be better.” Lies! I closed my eyes tight and let a few tears fall.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 7.2pt; margin-right: 7.2pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">“He’s gone,” I heard Derek say. I turned around slowly to find Derek alone in the room. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think that was a good idea. I was against letting Christopher in, but Gerald insisted. Idiot.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 7.2pt; margin-right: 7.2pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">I knew my eyes were positively drowning in tears, so I kept them downcast as I spoke. “Can you leave me alone for a couple days? I need to be alone. I can’t stand being stuck behind this glass.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 7.2pt; margin-right: 7.2pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Sure thing. Can I bring you anything, food, and water?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Yes, please, thank you.” My words were shallow defeated things.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">((end of chapter 1))</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: merriweather; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="http://dianagraves.blogspot.com/2018/05/zombie-book-2-chapter-2.html">PRESS HERE FOR CHAPTER 2</a></span></span></div>
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dianagraveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02348203289637454397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950146801179152906.post-4493026952296078882018-02-05T01:51:00.000-08:002018-04-10T10:28:20.104-07:00Zombie Book 2 is Underway<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="background-color: yellow; font-size: large;">(NOTE: this is now the first chapter of the third book...haha.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I took a long break from blogging. I needed to focus on the holidays and publishing <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Librarian-Serial-Book-2-ebook/dp/B078ZHBB6P">The Librarian</a>. Now I'm back, neck deep in the world of Zombies! I've decided to post the first five chapters, just as I did with the first <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Zombie-Book-ebook/dp/B076L4P736">Zombie Book</a>, so tonight I'm posting chapter 1:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_r61FtKK1J10O4fWtEJkyQZK3rLt4WYFyBd1Nc3pzPSe6Bp54LShPpc7Z9ipq7BjNsn5z7NTB3pX17ELXHrXIDnq0dIxxSLDhiPKYJ6XjblQ2S2qfUC4fgC_eMmThJ2HlKA2x-qFybx9p/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1479" data-original-width="1512" height="391" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_r61FtKK1J10O4fWtEJkyQZK3rLt4WYFyBd1Nc3pzPSe6Bp54LShPpc7Z9ipq7BjNsn5z7NTB3pX17ELXHrXIDnq0dIxxSLDhiPKYJ6XjblQ2S2qfUC4fgC_eMmThJ2HlKA2x-qFybx9p/s400/2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span> <span id="docs-internal-guid-c062f45b-6562-59d9-8889-c783178b9c15"></span><br />
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-c062f45b-6562-59d9-8889-c783178b9c15"><span style="color: red; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 24pt; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">DAYS </span><span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">went by without seeing another living human out in the open, now there were five looting a drugstore that had long been picked clean. There were three men and two women, skinny and wearing rags. I watched them give the place a good once, twice, thrice, over. They didn’t even find a box Bandaids. I felt bad for them. They looked tired and hungry and scared. My own people had none of those problems. We had everything we needed and then some...I could help these people, but I wouldn’t. They looked nice enough, I supposed but looks can deceive. For example, I looked like a living human, but I wasn’t anymore. I’d been dead for months.</span></span></div>
<span id="docs-internal-guid-c062f45b-6562-59d9-8889-c783178b9c15"> </span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.44; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 7pt; margin-right: 7pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span id="docs-internal-guid-c062f45b-6562-59d9-8889-c783178b9c15"><span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">From my perch atop the adjacent building, I could see over much of downtown Olympia, Washington. Or, what was left of her. Before the disease landed here, it was a gem of a city. The capital of Washington with Neoclassical architecture. O-Town was the pride of the state. A small knit community full of art, drama, food and just filled to the brim with hippies… Now all those free loving, latte sipping, bean bag playing youngsters were walking corpses looking for grub. You could say, they had the munchies in life and in death. I chuckled to myself at that thought. You have to find humor in this life. It took dying for me to learn that.</span></span></div>
<span id="docs-internal-guid-c062f45b-6562-59d9-8889-c783178b9c15"> </span><br />
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-c062f45b-6562-59d9-8889-c783178b9c15"><span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A gunshot cut through the quiet streets. I looked down at the people in the drug store. The five people were running off down the road. They didn’t have a gun. The shot didn’t come from them, but they knew what it meant. It meant someone was shooting at a zombie out there somewhere, and zombies seemed to move in packs. Finally some action.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I jumped down from the building some forty feet and landed loudly on the road of an abandoned car. If I’d been alive that would have hurt like hell. I might have even broken a bone or sprained an ankle. Instead, I climbed down from the car and walked calmly down the deserted roads in search of zombies. Hell, maybe I could even save the poor wretch that just rang the dinner bell.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I bent down and put my hand on the cement and I could feel the ground tremor. The vibrations grew until I could hear them. I looked back and saw the horde approaching fast from behind me. Over six million zombies pouring through the streets toward the sound of the gunshot and the smell of a human. Fuck! I ran to the closest vehicle to me, a tall van. It was locked. I didn’t have time to find another place for cover. I got down on my stomach and rolled under the van just in time for the horde of the dead to scream by, rotting parts and putrid smell. Some fell and were simply trampled over. It was a stampede of rotters. The slower zombies trailed behind. I rolled back out to walk with them. I liked the calmer bunch. They reminded me of classic movies. Nice and slow, but that meant whoever these guys were after would be just a pile of bones by the time I got there. I had to get ahead of the horde somehow.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Derek to Erin,” I heard from my walky-talky at my hip. The zombies around me stopped and looked at me. They almost seemed confused. I looked like food, sounded like food but I didn’t smell like food. I growled at them and they moved away.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I ran ahead of the slow rotters and turned the corner to find the Army Hummer I saw earlier that day. The door was unlocked but the keys were probably on the driver, who was probably dead. Lucky for me I was recently taught how to hotwire a car by my friend, Gerald.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I pulled out my walky and pressed the button, “Erin here. The hunt is hot. How may I be of service?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Thomas has been asking for you. You’ve been gone for days. You’re finally within range, so does that mean you’re coming home soon?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I’ll be there tonight. I’ve learned so much. Be ready to have your minds blown!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I pulled out my pocket knife to remove the plastic cover on the steering column but found the wires exposed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“That’s good to hear. Your son misses you.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Hey, um Derek. I don’t suppose you know how to hotwire a Humvee.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“That’s Gerald’s area of expertise. Let me hand you over.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Thanks.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Soon Gerald’s excited voice filled the vehicle. “Hey, sweet cheeks!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A zombie stopped to look at me. I gave him a cold stare. “Move on buddy, nothing to eat here.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Shut the fuck up and tell me how to hotwire a Humvee.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I love you.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I sighed and decided not to tell him to eat shit and die. “I don’t have time to play with you right now.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Well, first off I’d suggest you don’t try to hotwire a Humvee.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“And why not?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Well, for starters they are just fucking bad for the planet. Did you ever think about that? No, you didn’t. You is selfish.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I </span><span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">is</span><span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">,” I agreed. “I found a working freezer in Seattle last week full of ice cream, and I ate all of it.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Nooooo!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yes, double fudge, caramel ribbon, moose trek.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You cold-hearted bitch!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I let him hear me laugh. “It’s not like it would have made the trip back with me. I did bring you all gifts, but first, you have to tell me how to hotwire this fucking humvee.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Okay, okay. You wore me down. Against my better judgment, I will tell you how to hotwire a Humvee.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yes, thank you.” I had my knife ready in my hand. I didn’t know which of these thick wires to cut. They all looked the same.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“First, I want you to look to the left of the steering wheel.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Okay.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Are you looking left.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yes.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Good. There is a knob on the dashboard. Turn it to the start position.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I felt my face heat up with anger and embarrassment. I put the knife down on the seat forcefully and turned the engine over with the twist of the knob, easy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Did you get that?” He asked over the walky. “I know it was complex and-”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Fuck you,” I interrupted him. He laughed good and long into the walky. I turned the station on the walky and put the humvee into reverse, pulling out onto the road. I felt a couple bumps. I didn’t even look in the mirrors. I knew what I hit and I didn’t give a damn. They were already dead.</span></div>
</span><span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span> <span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "merriweather"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-c062f45b-6562-59d9-8889-c783178b9c15"></span></span><span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">The Zombie Book 2 will be published in June 2018. If you haven't read the first Zombie book the cover is a link to the Amazon page. Just click it!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This is the working cover for the 2nd book!</span></div>
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dianagraveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02348203289637454397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950146801179152906.post-26693282662303803532017-12-19T03:52:00.002-08:002017-12-19T03:52:56.346-08:00CHANGING THINGS...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;">You ever sit back and wonder what events in your life made you who you are? I cringe when I hear people say something to the effect of, I wouldn't change a thing because it made me who I am. I feel like that's bull shit. Certainly, I would still be the same person I am if I didn't eat that burrito yesterday. ...That's probably not what those people mean. The big events. The horrible things we did and had done to us. They're talking about the Rape, Cheating, Car Crashes, Fires, Broken Hearts, Accidents and Neglects that leaves us changed forever. Core memories, as Disney, might put it. Life's little happenstances that shape us. </span><div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We mostly remember the bad. I know I certainly do. I remember feeling stupid for the first 15 years of my life. I was held back in second grade. I took special classes for reading in school. The first time I saw so much as a B on any of my school work was my freshmen year of high school. I can tell you, it was such a feeling. I'll never forget it. I cried. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It took me until I was 20 to realize why I was so stupid before high school:</span></div>
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<li><span style="font-size: large;">I needed glasses since I was in 4th grade and maybe sooner. My mom got me a pair when I was 11, but I took them off to play outside and they fell out of my pocket. For days and weeks, I searched for them, but they were gone...mom never bought me another pair. My dad did when I moved in with him at 16 years-old.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">I was starving. My older brothers and I grew up in poverty. There was a short time of two years in which my mom was married to a physically and verbally abusive ass-hat that we had food in the house and money for lunches at school, but after they divorced we couldn't even afford furniture in our trailer, let alone groceries. The food we did have was not for us. It was for mom's new boyfriend...another ass-hat (men always came first). Mom was too proud to ask for government handouts, so there was no free lunch program or food bank visits, we just went without food. I remember coming home to find my brother unconscious on the floor while the vacuum was running. He was so starved that he fainted while doing his chores...Hard to focus on school when your stomach hurts like hell...Some of my most shameful memories as a child were out of hunger. I've eaten out of a dumpster before. I've eaten a jar of mayonnaise before. Right now I cringe at the thought, but thinking back on it, at the time it tasted like heaven to a starving child. Men make more money than women, and my dad only had me and one other brother to care for, so at 16 I had regular meals. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">No doctor or dentist visits unless I was dying (period) No health insurance mandate meant no health care for me as a child. Unless I was screaming in pain, no go. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">There was no help at all...on top of not being able to see the board and not being able to focus because of hunger pains or sickness, I received no help at all on my school work. I admit, memories are fully faulty and there is a chance I simply do not remember being helped at home, but truly I do not recall my mom ever sitting down with me and actually helping me study for a test or work on a project. Everything from day one was left to me, a child...and I failed at everything. You would assume my teachers said something to my mom about my performance, but instead of helping me, I felt ridiculed and judged only. She spoke openly in front of me to anyone about how stupid I was, especially compared to my perfect brothers, who could do no wrong in her eyes. I felt like shit. I clearly remember that. I was 7 years old and crying into my teddy bears. Screaming I HATE YOU and meaning me...</span></li>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I don't really blame my mom, though. She was 19 when she had me, a single mom of 3 without a high school education. She put herself through college while working full time and raising 3 kids alone. At times she worked up to 3 jobs at once. She worked as often as she could to pay the bills. She just didn't have time for me. She often forgot about me altogether. (she still does. My birthday was 11/17...she never called)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I remember when I turned 10 years old. I don't remember where my mom was on my birthday, but I have fond memories of a young prostitute who stole cake mix, frosting and whoppers from Safeway and made me a birthday cake. I don't remember if I ever tasted chocolate before that day and no cake can hold a candle to it. It was perfection! Perhaps it is love that makes the memory of that cake so amazing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Yes, befriending prostitutes isn't something most 10-year-olds do, but without a parent home, my brothers and I were left alone to be abused and abuse each other and wander the streets and try drugs and drink coffee and alcohol and smoke cigarettes...We were the kids other parents didn't want their kids hanging out with. I don't want to sit and think and count how many times I was raped or molested growing up. It hurts my heart. LOL I laugh so I don't cry... </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I didn't have help with school and I didn't have help with life...I did some really dumb stuff. I should have been killed a few times over. When I was 12 I once got in a car full of grown ass men I didn't know just because a friend of a friend was dating one of them. They took me and my other friends back to their grown ass man apartment and did things they should have been doing to grown ass woman and not a bunch of fucking preteens...I've made sooooo many bad choices like that. Why am I still alive!?!?!?!?! I was a little girl without a full-time mom and only an every other weekend dad. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When I was young I used to call myself stupid. I told myself that everyone hated me and that I was a burden. I told myself I was ugly and I felt sorry for people who had to look at me. I don't know what made me change all the sudden at the age of 16. Was it moving in with my dad? (which broke my mother's heart) Was it just getting older and realizing I needed to make some changes? Maybe it was wanting something better than what I had and being someone better than who I was. I look at my little girl and I think back. I never ever want her to feel what I felt. I help her, I watch over her, I make sure she knows she's beautiful and I never lie to her, never. So if what I went through has made me a better mom, I guess I wouldn't change a thing either. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyTHjJk3xRPf-HMzjO9bOVyiwjdTTfr9hR2gBMJEmhVWR6Cezu6IdsxWCebU07NRLo7eotjk1ErWYDqudDC6EKQ6ooA7gPEuVFeIiKekqUQZwhGUWwy0YxmoO88Sq7-ufXPsWcjQAPby13/s1600/mo+glasses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="526" data-original-width="526" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyTHjJk3xRPf-HMzjO9bOVyiwjdTTfr9hR2gBMJEmhVWR6Cezu6IdsxWCebU07NRLo7eotjk1ErWYDqudDC6EKQ6ooA7gPEuVFeIiKekqUQZwhGUWwy0YxmoO88Sq7-ufXPsWcjQAPby13/s320/mo+glasses.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I feel like my first 5 books were me working through all that shit.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Raina-Kirkland-5-Book-Series/dp/B01M8HID3A">The Raina Kirkland Series</a></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Raina-Kirkland-5-Book-Series/dp/B01M8HID3A"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1261" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOBvYXf_1CiBsQFLxBA_RbWWg-uGUKwhcBnk_o8mTDpLHmkDyVeFSHN0vqyTy8OG6tr_IgNvBQI_UakYdmy4-9nA7XfvMULBw1xoQi9KtI6lWLKxvY-oTVlVhEEyyqMDZTtSQekozb7kM7/s640/5+book.jpg" width="504" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">LOVE YOU</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAOCTBbjE0ooD_bvJbJzEUhseBEAwFPUUzMoHPV4qrdYEDfi47TVSgpKzQC3iEecW-_8cFBPN7l2zh7QUaTuIXjMC4nnOcEgua48fX5YeNaVeDHCAvrjXSQdSheDgJ6_9clFF3C1WgvfPa/s1600/bc1..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="800" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAOCTBbjE0ooD_bvJbJzEUhseBEAwFPUUzMoHPV4qrdYEDfi47TVSgpKzQC3iEecW-_8cFBPN7l2zh7QUaTuIXjMC4nnOcEgua48fX5YeNaVeDHCAvrjXSQdSheDgJ6_9clFF3C1WgvfPa/s320/bc1..jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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dianagraveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02348203289637454397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950146801179152906.post-2438372876412033652017-12-14T04:21:00.004-08:002017-12-14T04:21:55.772-08:00TOO MANY DAMN BALLS<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="color: red; font-size: large;">I'm not sure if I'm ambitious or confused or a bit of both. I mean, well, I have my fingers in a lot of pies...or is that the wrong analogy. Perhaps I'm juggling too many damn balls...</span><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b>I'm a writer</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01M8HID3A" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="595" data-original-width="1600" height="146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEZ3EdCZ50dVgHaa0ik56Jz-V6yMi9xNuocYENz9eG-y-475TNBRe8QccjQ6K49TUS4EK3DzhXm0tS2DOrqy2-aR2WDjsFIIyj3_BEgE5bTpRv-BEukvZPBjx5MFGSgMMP9lKF-WFp9D_7/s400/Raina-collage.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Zombie-Book-ebook/dp/B076L4P736" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1056" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQCm7eKsYJnK9KMB5_Jp9mykm4jifxEAf7WYoEyv77IXQkzUb1gQ4MQBNVfo3FSQYoRJxEju8sPnkuOh6XSc6KNZKPAK7qG38Na1eu5D2N1r4TdMlc7Zy7a7ee3pIC0yH9uVStOknOu5pD/s320/The+Zombie+Book+2.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Artist-Serial-Book-1-ebook/dp/B01MZ5D5E7"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1002" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje7ZEvwAlUpEblP8Ru7_fyQObftnm0dtaSVuZ97YRZZlKJVZJ5_OCS6RHGJWNOiqWFf-svgBtXyITJqdNey0Fy7v3gSZijScZ2Q2jf5T4pjGKnDy5QZLlVtlHQRC-6NF1sYIDX3wYd9ROp/s320/SERIAL+KILLER.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-size: large;">I'm currently writing the last book in The Serial Killer series and the second Zombie Book...Zombie Book 2. </span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b>An Artist</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.redbubble.com/people/dianauncensored/shop" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNGR4AOCIL63JV11rLr7Ux0bRfieABdmMCh0DL6ZoiIhNnIb7xoyVuGdAq0suEcrOxYlO1A5B8J5_PtyRHgFNe58wDvYdGGxjvLJP3-OiBR71mBmH5j7hMQ3WdkTbYMY6MCaqXWEfDZzIp/s400/Collage.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: large;">I'm trying to start my own <b>business</b>.</span><br />
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<a href="https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1562090797/stay-n-play-cafe#" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="978" data-original-width="1600" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO22e12N955zBzkHVRyjgViQyRFjPn3lDjJY6TeNuh3TTplproPXLIErMEpAldlnrp4-rp_6uBl6GzsQjnhaYf3BGH8YsUDjh2xjqMH31JQucKUoxnnZ371K9UrgIktN26uESyw2eX33H5/s400/LOGO+3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: large;">I tried to get it going through the Kickstarter website, but that only seems to work for famous and rich people now...as if they need help at all. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-size: large;">I'm trying to sell the pilot episode or Paranormal Washington, a series based on the Raina Kirkland Novels.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrBQqcIRfwq6s9zU4xIXdPq7-eZsa_uzRSCn5gTYC2qzs37jNY4SLk_3cUirTZfS_6GScnBSGHi-R11wKHmO20Z8kXU6KB4DxUOZjKTK9quv4Tmf6h0HbBOuK_F8ZrGJrpWpeTjXvIlckT/s1600/PARANORMAL+WASHINGTON.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1130" data-original-width="1600" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrBQqcIRfwq6s9zU4xIXdPq7-eZsa_uzRSCn5gTYC2qzs37jNY4SLk_3cUirTZfS_6GScnBSGHi-R11wKHmO20Z8kXU6KB4DxUOZjKTK9quv4Tmf6h0HbBOuK_F8ZrGJrpWpeTjXvIlckT/s400/PARANORMAL+WASHINGTON.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: large;">Amazon.com took a look at the first pilot episode and asked me to change some things, so that's what I'm doing. I hope to resubmit the new pilot before Christmas! </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9fPVBWr08N83Ag_0j14MFkb1G_jAQAh2tjr2O7d359D0L-bC2RC0FJDsQV7M8sR78Zr2WLmhIyWQwV24v0PSUQvxnJAtlfE_DCS9Bzc8tEzZyY-AS7rw_hcOxXa1Ym-6qnvbmyTUTc7hG/s1600/astudios-facebook-190xlogo._V195168337_.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="37" data-original-width="189" height="78" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9fPVBWr08N83Ag_0j14MFkb1G_jAQAh2tjr2O7d359D0L-bC2RC0FJDsQV7M8sR78Zr2WLmhIyWQwV24v0PSUQvxnJAtlfE_DCS9Bzc8tEzZyY-AS7rw_hcOxXa1Ym-6qnvbmyTUTc7hG/s400/astudios-facebook-190xlogo._V195168337_.gif" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: large;">And, I'm trying to find a job in my field of study, Social Science...some grand mix of social services, counseling and administration. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-size: large;">But I can't forget everything else I have to do...running a house is a full-time job. Guess I'm feeling stretched a little thin...Oh yeah! And I'm trying to lose weight.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJWzdUrZfm2uB5fw_beYk1PIm2jiY3hnGlNc5J3HTp3YYj7yI4F8ZFM6br4NIHL9rQ6mb8CXZ01BhhKPxiBizlPIbmAcUk6bFRV5sYMLEdfgus_WjyF0VLVAUsKuI5QLk8JTlLGgeOpR6t/s1600/kiss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="897" data-original-width="939" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJWzdUrZfm2uB5fw_beYk1PIm2jiY3hnGlNc5J3HTp3YYj7yI4F8ZFM6br4NIHL9rQ6mb8CXZ01BhhKPxiBizlPIbmAcUk6bFRV5sYMLEdfgus_WjyF0VLVAUsKuI5QLk8JTlLGgeOpR6t/s320/kiss.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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dianagraveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02348203289637454397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950146801179152906.post-8958016669421654662017-11-20T10:09:00.001-08:002017-11-20T10:09:37.115-08:00NEEDING ME SOME RAINA! <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;">It's fair to say that I'm kind of obsessed with the <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Raina-Kirkland-5-Book-Series/dp/B01M8HID3A">Raina Kirkland</a> series. Besides my children, I've never made anything so grand as this five book adventure. I want to stay in Raina's world.</span><br />
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<iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="689" scrolling="no" src="https://www.facebook.com/plugins/post.php?href=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.facebook.com%2Fgravesnovels%2Fphotos%2Fa.288484117882344.68902.273576656039757%2F1565515026845907%2F%3Ftype%3D3&width=500" style="border: none; overflow: hidden;" width="500"></iframe><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I started writing the adventures of secondary characters. What happened when Raina, the narrator, wasn't around. When Nick was sent away after murdering two people, before coming back in book 3. And how Katie changed from meek child to bad ass between books 3 and 4. </span><span style="font-size: large;">Books 2.5 and 3.5 respectively. But, I never finished them...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I wrote a screenplay for a television series pilot episode, and I submitted it to exactly one production company. They got back to me after 4 months and said, "<i>If I changed some things I should resubmit it" </i>but never said what those things were...I haven't submitted it to another company or changed anything yet...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Because I possess some artistic talent in the area of drawing and graphic design, I thought I could convert my novels into graphic novels, but...I don't know...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I've entertained the idea of writing a 6th book, but I'm sure Raina's story has been told pretty thoroughly. All the bad guys have been dealt with and all the surviving good guys have their happily ever afters. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I have the fullest of plates at the moment. </span><span style="font-size: large;">I'm currently looking for a new day job, while also trying to start a small business (</span><a href="http://kck.st/2ATt1nO" style="font-size: x-large;">Kickstarter</a><span style="font-size: large;">) and write The Librarian, The Zombie Book 2 and hopefully an erotic novel. Maybe a time-traveling piece...You could say I'm kind of busy, but I really want Raina in my life. I'm just not sure which direction to go in. </span><br />
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<li><span style="font-size: large;">Novels 2.5 and 3.5</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Television Series</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Graphic Novel</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">6th Book</span></li>
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<span style="font-size: large;">What do you think?</span></div>
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dianagraveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02348203289637454397noreply@blogger.com0