Thursday, December 31, 2009

A New Year

As I turn my head and look back on the last year, I can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. I think I can safely say that this last year, at least for my family and I, was one of the hardest. At the same time, I think this last year was one of the most fulfilling. We’ve walked through the valley and God has been with us every step of the way, from my firing from Pima Medical Institute to our current financial situation. The challenges have been anything but scarce.

I feel that my will has been tempered into steel. I feel my resolve has strengthened into something resembling titanium. My purpose has shown greater than ever before this last year and now, as I stand on the precipice of 2010, I have nothing but high hopes for the new year.

Looking at our bank account, some ask why I would have high hopes. We’re still in an apartment, our cars are breaking down, we need a new bed, and some mornings I wake up and wonder when it’s all going to just crash and burn…and yet I have never been more at peace with my life, with my family, with myself. I am still called to write full time. I am confident that will never change.

I find myself smiling with gratitude when I think of how far we have come down this road. I can mark the date – July 30th, 2009 – the day I was fired. The day that I took a new path, that I decided to trust in God for more than just my salvation. I began to trust in Him for my daily bread, for the very breath I breathe.

If there’s one thing I can confidently say, it is that I have no regrets. Would I still go through what I went through at Pima if I had known the outcome? Of course. Would I still have dealt with the financial struggle of the last five months if I knew I would be at this very moment in time, still relying on God, still waiting for the promise to be fulfilled? Yes. Because I know the promise will be fulfilled. I know God will come through, as He has been this whole time. Sometimes, striving for a goal isn’t always just about the goal itself, but about the journey to get to it. And that journey has changed me.

The first half of 2009 was a season of preparation, of training. The second half was a season of waiting. And now, as we embark into 2010, let us enter a season of change. Let us strive for the promises that have been placed before us. Let us dare to become something more than ourselves. Let us become who we were always meant to be…

I wish all of you a wonderful New Year. I’ll see you on the other side…

Monday, December 21, 2009

Holiday Break

Well, it's finally that time of year. That time when I take a week or so off to recharge the batteries, to remember the reason for the season, and just take a deep breath and get ready for the new year. I'll still be appearing online here and there, but otherwise, I will be off on break until after the first.

Have a great Christmas everyone and here's to an exciting, purpose-filled new year! :D

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Expired Reality Holiday Gift Basket Sold!

The Expired Reality holiday gift basket has officially been sold. A friend from our church approached me today and asked if she could just buy it off me to give as a gift to a family member. Seeing how there were no other bids yet, we agreed to sell it to her. Don't worry though, there will be other baskets coming down the line to help get my books out there and to help raise money for the Ignite Youth Group of Crosspointe Church. Thank you all for your support! :)

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Expired Reality Holiday Gift Basket

Looking for the perfect gift for the book lover in your life or want a novel idea for treating yourself? The Expired Reality Holiday Gift Basket is being auctioned off just in time for the holidays! Inside this amazing basket of goodies is:

1 Signed copy of Expired Reality: Endangered Memories
1 Signed copy of Expired Reality: Lost Birth
1 Signed copy of Expired Reality: Drather’s Story
$25 Borders gift card
$15 Starbucks gift card
5.1 oz package of Lindt milk chocolate truffles
7 oz package of Walkers mint cream thins
“Hope” centerpiece

The basket is valued at $100 and will be auctioned off through bidding, the base bid starting at $75. Half of the proceeds of this gift basket will go to the Ignite Youth Group at Crosspointe Church. The bidding will begin on Friday morning, December 18th at 8am (Arizona time) and will end on Tuesday, December 22nd at 11:59pm (Arizona time). The highest bid that is cast for the basket at the end of the bidding time frame will be awarded the gift set for that bid price. Funds can be paid via cash, check or PayPal. If you live outside of the valley, you will need to cover shipping on top of the bid amount. If this is the case, the basket will be shipped as soon as funds are received via Paypal or check. At that time, a mailing address for the funds will be given.

In order to participate in the bidding, send your bid via email to my Facebook account or via email to Current bids will be posted via Facebook during the day every couple of hours and updated on the official website every evening.

Any questions? Just contact me via Facebook or email. :)  For more information on the books themselves, visit

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

The Release (Finally) of Drather's Story

After months of technical difficulties, format changes and even a self-publisher switch, my first novella, Drather's Story, is finally off the presses and available for purchase. Originally released as a 9 episode short story mini series tying in with my Expired Reality series, I decided to compile the whole story in its entirety into a convenient paperback format. Originally I designed Drather's Story to be released through but then switched it over to Createspace because I was able to get it into a more practical size - 8" x 5.25" instead of Lulu's 9" x 6" and the more practical price of $5.95. Recently I have found that Lulu works for me when it comes to ebook format and Createspace works for me when it comes to paperback releases. But that's a story for another blog entry.

Check out Drather's Story here.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Do Demons Wear Santa Hats?

In celebration of the holidays, I felt it necessary to write a piece of comedic fiction. The story is tied to my Black Earth series and features Queen Evanescence, Lieutenant in the Dark Army...

Copyright 2009 David N. Alderman

Evanescence exited the meeting chamber of the Dark Lord and strolled down the grand hallway. Her black dress skated along the dark marble floor with haste. She was full of excitement, ready to start this new project of hers. The Dark Lord had just given her permission to move forward with her plans, and she couldn’t be happier. If there was such a thing as joy here in the depths of Hell, she was feeling it to its full extent.

She calmed her spirit, knowing full well that this was only the beginning. Getting permission to create new life was only the first step in what was going to prove to be a very long, very painful process. But she would stay committed. She would stay committed to the task if it was the very last thing she did. Knowing she was immortal, though, made her laugh to use that expression: the very last thing she did. 

She let out a little giggle as she passed underneath the arch and entered the lobby area where her assistant, the onyx-skinned demon Malrov, stood waiting for her. The large beast had thick-hoofed feet and dark, spiral horns with glowing embers at the end. She loved the appearance of him, although he wasn’t the smartest assistant here in the Depths.

He smiled with his sharp teeth. “Did you gain permission, my queen?”

She nodded and then floated right on by him, making her way out of the lobby area toward the large hallway of rooms. He followed her, his mighty hooves clacking against the marble as he rushed to keep up with her.

Evanescence stopped in front of a large door decorated with human skulls. One of them was positioned outward, as if it was there to stare at her every time she returned to her room. She smiled at it, cupping her palm and tapping her long nails around its chin. The bone was cold against her fingertips.

“Did you miss me?” Evanescence whispered to it.

The skull’s mouth moved as a wheezy voice came out. “Yesss, my queen. As alwaysss.”

“And what is the status of my room?”

“Your room hasss been violated today.”

Evanescence swung her arms out in rage, slapping Malrov in the face in the process. He neither flinched nor moved. Instead, he scratched an itch on his forehead.

“Was it those infernal demolings again?!”

The skull coughed, and pieces of hair and dust sputtered out in front of Evanescence. She waved her hands out to wisp them away.

“Yesss, my queen. They were here while you were visssiting the Dark Lord.”

Malrov clenched his fists together and snarled. “Would you like me to take care of them for you, my queen?”

She prodded her forehead with her fingers and closed her eyes, knowing her pupils were literally burning red with fury. She realized the task she had at hand was so much more important than those stupid little demons messing up her room again. She turned to Malrov and nodded, her eyes coming back to their blue tint.

Malrov smiled and took off running down the hallway, the clacking of his hooves disappearing into the distance.

Evanescence opened the door and strode into her room. As the door slammed shut behind her, she was surprised to find one of the demolings sitting on her bed—on her pillow no less—playing with her makeup. She stood, shocked as she watched the little demon apply some of her blue lipstick to its lips. Her cosmetics were strewn about her satin bed sheets, some of them already opened and applied to her sheets, to the posts of the bed and to the demoling.

“You have the nerve!”

The little demon looked up, startled at the intrusion. It was wearing blue eye shadow as well. It smiled wide at her, its little teeth blue with what Evanescence could only guess was lipstick. “My queen,” it uttered in its own demonic language.

“Yes! Your queen! Your queen, indeed!” She stormed toward the creature. It was already off the bed and leaping from the bed post. It sailed through the air across the room and landed in her dresser mirror, smashing into the glass with its head. Its fragile body tumbled to the dresser surface and stayed there for a moment, dazed at its miscalculation of trajectory.

Evanescence was past the point of being patient with these little mongrels. She was a superior being who didn’t need to put up with these little rodents scouring her room for what they thought to be treasures. She made it to the dresser in a flash and grasped the demoling by the neck, digging her cerulean-painted nails into its soft flesh. Its skin felt like a piece of rotted fruit.

“You will pay for your defiance, little one!”

The demoling’s face twisted and contorted as its claws gripped her hand. It was no use. Evanescence squeezed as hard as she could as its neck exploded and the demon fell to pieces in her hand. She dumped the mess on the floor and wiped her hand across her dress.

She would have to get someone to clean up this horrid mess. She glanced at the floor, saw the splotch of demon entrails and blood, and shook her head. “Let that be a lesson to the rest of you who want to intrude on my domain!”

She heard a weird scratching sound behind her. When she turned around, her wardrobe cabinet burst open, and a blur of red monsters leapt out at her, knocking her to the floor—right in the puddle of guts. She felt the little monster hooves and claws scrape across her dress and the parts of her skin that were bare, as a half dozen demolings stampeded over her and darted out the doorway, escaping into the hallway to their freedom.

She gathered herself together and stood to her feet, covered now in blood. “Curses, you little brats!”

Malrov burst into the room and stood at attention, staring at her. She glared at him, shaking her hands to rid herself of some of the filth.

“Your majesty, I wasn’t able to find the little brat who snuck into your room earlier.”

“Get out, Malrov. I would like to be alone.”

He looked confused. “I thought you wanted me to help you with your plans.”

“Yes, you can help by getting out of here! I need to be alone when I create my masterpiece.”

“What about the battle plans for Destinea?”

“What about them?”

“We have to prepare the troops for the surface landing in four hours.”

“I will be ready to do so in two hours, Malrov. Please…just get out of here.” She felt blood trickling down her face and was sure she was going to gag. The very thought of inferior blood having any contact with her own royal skin was atrocious.

“Well…the Legion is waiting in the war room for you.”

“The Legion can wait. I don’t answer to them. I answer to the Dark Lord. Now get out of my room! Your queen demands it!”

Malrov stumbled out of the room, slamming the door shut.

Evanescence grabbed a towel from her dresser and wiped her face and arms with it. Then she sat down on the bed and began picking up the cosmetics that were still intact. Her mind wandered to how wonderful it would be once her creation was done. She felt so honored that the Dark Lord had allowed her the privilege of bringing a new child into their ranks. Into their family. He was so gracious. She would do anything for him. He knew that, though. She hoped he knew that.

She glanced around at the black walls and reminisced about the time she had gotten her wings clipped. It was a liberating feeling to be considered one of the Dark Lord’s elite. She felt the warmth of his respect for her and smiled. She would do him proud by creating new life for their family. For their army. For the purpose of bringing destruction to the one planet she couldn’t bear to think about: Earth.

Their plans were to attack Earth months from now, which would leave plenty of time for her to create her first and only daughter: Pearl. That would be her name. As beautiful as the most precious treasure in existence.

Evanescence leaned back on the bed and closed her eyes, imagining what she wanted Pearl to look like. The girl would have pure white skin, and her hair would be long and black—blacker than the blackest night. Her eyes would glow a harsh blue, to indicate to everyone that she was a child of the great queen Evanescence. Her voice would rival that of their dark choir, and maybe even of the Dark Lord himself, although that was not something Evanescence actually wanted. He was their worship leader, so…

There was a knock on her door. She opened her eyes and huffed under her breath. Could she just get a few moments alone? Alone in her darkness, alone in her putrid soul? She slid off the bed and adjusted her gown, readjusting her breasts in the corset.

The knock came again, only stronger this time. She stamped her foot on the ground and bit her tongue in the process. The blood tasted refreshing, but the pain was not. She grabbed the handle of the door and swung it open in a rage.

Malrov was standing there...with a red and white Santa Claus hat on his head. “Your highness, the Dark Lord wanted me to tell you that your chamber is ready.”

She ground her teeth and shook her head violently. “What are you doing with that ridiculous thing on your head?”

Malrov laughed. “Yeah, my Santa hat? Reytha gave it to me. She said I could keep it if I promised to wear it in front of you.”

“Ooohohhhhh! You really piss me off sometimes, Malrov!”

“Why? I thought it might cheer you up.”

“Why would ANY reminder that it is Christmas cheer me up? The celebration of the birth of our sworn enemy? Why would I want to celebrate that?”

Malrov looked sad. He turned and shuffled down the hallway as Evanescence slapped her palm on her face and sighed. “I need a vacation from these idiots!”

She shut her bedroom door and started down the hallway, preparing herself mentally for what was about to happen. She would have to spend a full day in the Life Chamber to create Pearl. To create a child that would help them destroy Earth. And once Earth was destroyed, including all of the believers on that forsaken planet, she would be able to rest easily. She hated the thought of those fools worshiping anything other than her dark master. All in due time. All in due time.

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Vector - A Novus Partum

From the recesses of my mind, from the abyss of my subconscious, shadows merge into one singular entity. She came to me a few months ago. She revealed herself to me in a story I was working on. I paid her no mind at the time and this angered her. She wants attention. She craves the spotlight and yet shrinks from the very idea of revealing her true form to me.

Who is she, you ask. I cannot say because I do not know. She wears a cloak and hides her face. Her body is scarred from her travels through time and space. Blood lines her pale skin. Her breath comes out in heavy pulses, her lungs weary from her journey. She has no control over her travels and her health decreases with every jump she makes. She has seen her savior on the cross, the brutality of Hitler, the Great War. She has seen many things, heard many sounds and felt the very fabric of time tear to pieces around her.

Her mind is unstable, moreso than anyone else I have ever met or created. And yet, she has the tightest grasp on what kind of danger her world is in. She knows what must be done and yet she has no control over where she goes or what she herself does. She is an enigma. She is a fleeting speck on the scope of our world, of our past. She has crossed the lines between Expired Reality and Black Earth and longs to live a life in the present instead of in the past or the future. Our past. Her future.

Her name is Vector. That is all I know. That is all she is willing to tell.

Monday, December 7, 2009

Christian Writers of the West

On Saturday, I attended the Christian Writers of the West meeting that took place at a local Marie Callenders restaurant, at the prompting of my online friend, Michelle Sutton. At first glance, I felt a bit intimidated - mainly because there were more than a dozen women in the room and only little ol' me and Michelle's son as far as the male population was concerned. But I soon overcame the intimidation when I settled within myself that we were all writers. It didn't matter our gender or our age...writing was in our blood. Writing was the one thing, if anything other than God, that could unite us.

The meeting was something new for me to do. Being a self-published author, I am always trying to find new ways to network, to meet new people, to explore different avenues my writing could be discovered through. There were two different guest authors there, Amanda Cabot who writes historical fiction, and Tosca Lee who writes speculative fiction (my favorite genre). As much as I enjoyed listening to both authors, I will undoubtedly admit that I favored Tosca Lee simply because she writes closer to the genre I write for.

When she arrived at the meeting, Tosca took a seat next to me at the table. I was at first humbled that a well established author was sitting next to me. I know it may seem silly, but I felt nervous to be near someone who had followed the rabbit hole down into the Wonderland of publishing and could confidently say she was a 'successful' author. This reminded of an experience I had about a month ago. There is a fan of my writing who attends my church, and I went to the local Costco with him and his family one day and I heard him say that it was so awesome that he was grocery shopping with his favorite author. It's always humbling to hear something like that, but it makes me wonder where that type of respect comes from. Is it from my writing? Are the words that I craft so incredibly good that they simply melt people's hearts into nothingness until all that's left is utter adoration for the very author who wrote them? Or is there something more at work here? Is there something hidden behind the words? Something in me, as a writer, as a human, that propels this type of respect, this type of awe?

You can ask my wife. Whenever we have company over, I dominate the conversation, not because I am controlling, but because I love to tell stories. It's in my blood, in the very makeup of my DNA. If something happened on our trip to the grocery store, I will craft the event into a full blown tale, an experience so to say, sometimes with sound effects, sometimes with props. But it's what I do. It's the gift I was given. And if I chose to blow it off as nothing - or worse yet - credit it to my own talent, I would be slapping God in the face. The very God who gave me this gift, who wired me this way.

As I sat at this meeting and listened to Tosca speak about her origins, her process of storytelling, her passion for writing, I realized that I have that same respect for her as my friends may have for me. Why? Because storytelling is a gift. And when it is used right, to bring to light morals and ethics, to tell the lost tales of heroes and villains, to paint a metaphorical and allegorical painting of the decay and/or redemption of our society, it can affect an entire civilization, heck an entire species. The power of words is a power that cannot be equaled by any weapon fashioned by man. Writing is power. My friend put it best the other day when he said that it frightens him the power I have as a writer. Maybe he's right.

One thing that Tosca said in the meeting that really stood out to me was when she mentioned how we as writers need to write as if nobody was going to read what we wrote. We need to be truthful to ourselves, to be honest with our writing and not hold back. Those words have never been so true to me. When I began writing Black Earth: End of the Innocence, I came across some scenes that really stretched me as a writer. I was afraid at first of being controversial, of offending the normal church populace, of making my friend's eyebrows tilt upward in surprise and possibly disgust. But then I made a vow to be true to myself as a writer. To write what the character is wanting me to write, to write what God is wanting me to write. That doesn't mean that I just decide to write certain things to shock or offend others. I simply write...and those that read will pull from it what they will.

I hope to return to the CWOW group when they have their next meeting in January. It was a blessing to meet some new writers and to grab a copy of Tosca's Havah, which I plan on starting today.