Between Good And Evil

Just released from Sunbury Press: Between Good And Evil

Buy it now:
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Praise for R. Michael Phillips: 

R. Michael Phillips excels at setting the stage for a good story. He beckons you inside with multilayered characters and artistic strokes of sensory details and then pulls you through dark hallways of motivation and revelation. An absorbing, riveting good read. 
D.A. Sarac, The Editing Pen

Small town suspense, big city crime.

June Lorraine Roberts, MurderInCommon.com

About the book:

      Years after the Willis Asylum closed, the secrets of its past lingered in its decaying halls as a reminder to the good people of Auburn Notch—when Evil closes a door, he also opens a window. Sheriff Promise Flynn was new to the town, and she was about to find out some windows should never be opened.

      Promise Flynn is an overly impulsive Metro Detective whose disregard for procedure finally resulted in her being shot and left for dead during an investigation. To repair her bruised ego and splintered confidence she abandons the callous dark alleys of Chicago to patrol the quiet, birch-lined streets of Auburn Notch—a favorite vacation spot of her youth. For two years everything was idyllic, until the body of a young girl found in the abandoned asylum outside of town awakens the insecurities she thought her new life would insulate her from. As the new Sheriff she begins her investigation refusing to accept the similarities between the young woman’s death and her own case, oblivious to being unexpectedly recognized and penciled in at the top of a clever murderer’s To-Do list. Her internal struggle intensifies when a discredited crime reporter from the past suspiciously arrives in town to resurrect his threadbare reputation, along with an FBI agent chasing down a lead in a cold case. Both men quickly become entangled in Flynn's investigation and her attempts to finally put her past to rest.

      Flynn reluctantly accepts the murder of the young girl might be the work of the two men responsible for her hasty departure from Chicago, but Agent MacGregor insists the evidence points to a man he’s been chasing. As the rising current of her past threatens to pull her under, Flynn finds herself unprepared for option three.

Meet mystery writer R. Michael Phillips at an event near you. Times and dates will be posted on Goodreads and at rmichaelphillips.com.


See you there!

Through These Doors

I have been around since the beginning of recorded history, standing quietly amongst many people and cultures. Through the years I’ve chronicled the ideas and ideals of those held in high regard, placing them without prejudice alongside those chastised for bravely stepping forward to contradict them.  I’ve brought to the frightened masses the tragedies of wars fought, along with the prophecies of those yet to come. To the inquisitive I’ve uncovered the wonders of outer space and the marvels of Nature. To the scholars I’ve met through the years, I’ve cataloged the words and theories of those who came before them. I stand without judgment behind the words of Queen and commoner; of patriot and traitor; of realist and dreamer; of politician and anarchist.

With many of my contemporaries, I have endured the roar of giants who’ve towered over us, doing all that is possible to stand firmly in the shadow of their powerful presence. Others less fortunate than I have fallen, but their contributions to the lives they’ve touched can never be erased or ignored. It has made those of us that remain stronger and more determined. As one, we lower our heads in humble thanks, forever grateful for those who continue to applaud our existence. We then raise our head high without contempt for those who’ve determined there is no further use for us, proving we will not be dismissed without a fight.

You can find me down the street or around the corner. I have welcomed your family and friends for generations. My wondrous tales of magical characters from far away places enchants the young. The tumultuous teenage years are often softened with my stories of others who have endured their same challenges. I share anecdotes of remarkable successes during times of prosperity, while other narratives are a source of fervent hope at times of misfortune. I offer to all the opportunity of a brief respite from the demands of their everyday lives, asking very little in return.

Each day as you pass through these doors, it is the expectation of the enjoyment my words will bring you and the contributions to the community we share that defines my existence. I don’t know how the giants of the industry feel, but I’m very proud to be your local independent bookshop.

©2015 R. Michael Phillips   All right reserved.

Photo ©GKChest, via Wikimedia Commons

January 2014 Book Tour

I'm excited about the Virtual Book Tour this month. A number of top, exciting bogglers and book reviewers have been kind enough to include me on their sites. There is even a signed, hardback giveaway of my new mystery, Passage Of Crime. Listed below are the dates followed by links to the sites.

January 14- Christa Reads and Writes

January 15- Psychotic State Book Reviews

January 16- Kelly P's Blog

January 17- Readalot Blog

January 18- A Blue Million Books

January 20- Thoughts in Progress

January 22- Books-n-Kisses

January 23- Musings and Ramblings

January 24- Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book

January 25- Dru's Book Musing

I hope you take a few minutes and visit these sites. I'm sure once you do you will find them as interesting and informative as I do, and continue to follow them.

A Few Words About Rejection

So you got rejected. As a writer you should understand this is all part of the process. It’s not like this is something new. We have experience rejection since we were old enough to draw on a wall with a crayon. We saw it as art, but mom saw it as a reason to hide the crayons. It doesn’t mean it wasn’t art.

We put pen to paper (or actually fingers to keyboards) with the idea of one day standing beside those literary giants that inspired us to do more with our thoughts and imaginations than just daydream. We toil over a keyboard for what seems like an eternity. Editing, then editing again. Reading, editing, moving this, adding that, until we are certain we hold within our hands exactly what the world has been waiting for–the novel all future novels will be compared to.

With the query written, and the first chapter attached, the email shoots off into hyperspace in search of a worthy agent for such a masterful work of fiction. You start the next book, certain your offer of representation is being drafted simultaneously. Maybe just one more cup of coffee as you await the email alert indicating your invitation to success has arrived.

Then it happens. You open the email and, with little more than a polite salutation, your heart is ripped from your breast. It’s a short paragraph, and the only word that stands out is – ...unfortunately.

No need to read on. That same feeling comes over you. The painful vision of mom collecting up the crayons and carrying them off to another room flashes through your mind. You weren’t old enough to understand then, but you should now. Even though mom took the crayons away, you didn’t stop finding ways to express yourself or finding an audience for that expression. You continued on despite the rejections you faced. For those who didn’t give up, the roots of those scribblings blossomed into true artistic expression.

Remember, as with every artistic expression, it’s not suited for everybody. Patience and a belief in what you’ve produced should keep you to task. I read somewhere 90% of writers don’t become published authors because they quit after the first sense of rejection. If you look at this from a glass half-empty/half-full perspective, what really happened is 90% of your competition has been eliminated. You can certainly compete with the other 10%.

With the New Year upon us, it’s time for a new resolution. You felt strongly enough about putting those fingers to the keyboard, now keep at it until your query lands in front of the right person at the right time. Do your research, continue to develop your writing skills, and get the next idea on paper and out the door. There is an agent out there waiting for you’re your submission, don’t disappoint them.  

A very bright and Happy New Year to all the soon to be authors out there!

Oranges And Lemons - Part 2

My parents were kind and decent people, giving without thought to the less fortunate, and instilling in me the patience to understand my fellow man. My mother was educated, a fortune of her being the daughter of a governess prior to her marriage, and set a formal schedule at home to educate me, as my father was insistent I attain an education and “clean” work with an annual salary.

My father worked a milling machine in a factory located on Cheapside, toward St. Paul’s. Mr. Ebenezer Caldwell owned it, having been bequeathed to him on the death of his father. He ran the business with his half-brother Anderson. Mr. Caldwell gave my father the job in gratitude for stopping what was certainly intended as a deadly assault. One evening at dusk, just prior to the glow of the gas lamps, a ruffian confronted Mr. Caldwell and his half-brother on their way home from the factory. When the man produced a revolver Anderson ran, leaving Mr. Caldwell to fend off the attacker alone. My father witnessed the confrontation and came to his aid, thwarting the attack. Anderson’s flight was regarded as an act of cowardice that was answered with his dismissal from the company. Mr. Caldwell never saw, nor spoke the name, of his half-brother again.

Those first years of employment for my father were a time of prosperity for my family. I went on to attend Harrow – Mr. Caldwell, I found out years later, facilitated my placement there. I thought the passing of my parents, due to an outbreak of cholera during my second year, would be the end of my formal education. Through Mr. Caldwell’s benevolence I continued, eventually attending Cambridge. I remember thinking through my university years how fortunate I was my father interceded on the attack of Mr. Caldwell. That quickly changed, driven with every ounce of malevolence I could dredge up from the bowels of Hades, to wishing my father had left him to die at the hands of his attacker.

You might think it shameful for me to speak of the dead in such a way as this. Shameful to condemn a man whose benevolence afforded my father a decent wage and myself a fine education. Perhaps you’re right. At the time I was so consumed with hatred for what he had done to remember the acts of kindness that actually defined his life.

The judge and jury listened patiently as the facts of my case were revealed, occasionally stopping the proceedings to quiet the assorted gawkers jammed into the gallery in the Old Bailey. They were told during the trial Mr. Caldwell was murdered in April of 1886, his body stuffed into a steamer trunk in the attic of his flat on Fleet Street. It was further asserted that I remained in the flat after killing the man, availing myself to his substantial wealth and property. The police and medical examiner gave detailed reports substantiating those claims; claims based largely on information supplied to them from the grocer who delivered our meat and produce, the stationer who sold me the steamer trunk and the banker who set up the account for John Martin Havisham.

My legal counsel, a man whose name I find no need to remember, a man scarcely my senior but mentally and judiciously most certainly my junior, was inept in his ability to dispute even the most subjective of claims by the prosecutor. His laziness placed my whole defense on my testimony, a testimony which brought laughter from the gallery after my insistence of Mr. Caldwell being very much alive up until the twenty-eighth day of October, the last day I spoke with him and six months after his confirmed death. These “delusions”, as the court referred to them, were dismissed as nothing more than a feeble attempt to substantiate a claim of mental incapacity in defense of my actions.

I pleaded with the court to hear me out, assuring the judge my defense would be simple and address each of the claims related to the prosecutor’s assertion of my guilt.

“If you still find my statements an insult to the integrity of the court,” I said, pounding my fist on the well-worn rail before me, “I’ll concede my guilt and waste no more of the courts time.”

The court was reluctant to indulge me, finally conceding due to the overwhelming insistence from the gallery. It appeared their expectation was of a fanciful tale of my consorting with an apparition; a carefully spun tale to divert the jury from the greed and murder depicted by the prosecutor. The chamber went silent as I began.

I had nothing less than respect and gratitude for Mr. Caldwell. At the time of my graduation from Cambridge he had sold his factory for a substantial sum, resigning himself to a quiet life of travel and leisure. You’ll think it odd my having never met the man personally, knowing him only through his benevolence, but such was the case.

With my schooling complete I was excited over the prospect of becoming a journalist and eventually a novelist. The stipend for my education and living expenses, an account set up for me at the Bank of England by Mr. Caldwell, was closed out on my graduation from Cambridge. I took a small flat above a bakery on Bread Street and spent the next three years as an editor with the publishing house of Bascomb & Aldritch, a rather prestigious house with ties to Cambridge. It was there, on that blustery day in March of 1886, when a letter arrived from Mr. Caldwell.

His letter was my first direct contact with him since my parent’s death, now twelve years past. It requested I meet with him to discuss writing his memoirs. He wanted people to know the good he had done in this life. This entailed my leaving Bascomb & Aldritch. Without hesitation I agreed, soon finding myself sipping Earl Grey tea in the sitting room of his flat on Fleet Street.

One TV Season Closer To “The Running Man”

Steven King had the right idea, and it’s more than just a little scary now. As we creep closer to 2019 with each new television season, the line between violence and entertainment is slowly blurring in the prime-time lineup. We have chefs who can’t recite the ingredients for Flan without using the “F” word, housewives you wouldn’t trust caring for your worst enemy’s children, and groups of desperate people on islands interacting with each other in ways Jane Goodall would have trouble explaining. But where did it start? Was it the day we found out TV Wrestling was fake? Maybe it was that episode of Geraldo when he got whacked in the head with a chair? They may have been there at the beginning to usher in this new form of entertainment, but to me Reality TV has its roots along the highways of this great nation of ours.

Essentially there are two types of people; those who slow to a crawl on a major Interstate at the mere sight of flashing lights and crumpled cars, and those who blow their horns and yell an assortment of expletives in an attempt to get the aforementioned moving more than 5 miles an hour. Somewhere, during one of these gaper delays, a Hollywood producer sat in the back of his gas guzzling limo and had an epiphany. After a few phone calls to cancel meetings, and an hour of moving slower than if his staff were behind the car pushing it, he gazes out the window and spots the future of television. One car is on it’s back with it’s wheels in the air like a dog doing tricks, and the other is a once sporty coupe which now looks like the prototype for the Smart Car. But that isn’t what set the light bulb off. What he saw was the 8-mile backup of “viewers” slowing down to get just a glimpse of the misery and carnage. And POOF! Reality TV was born.

Reality shows are making celebrities out of people who weren’t talented enough to mow our lawns yesterday, but today we’re taking fashion advise from them. They say it’s reality, but is it? Maybe it’s scripted just a teensy, tiny, little bit? Maybe just a casual suggestion here or there to get things rolling? Years ago they swore up and down TV Wrestling was real, and then they came out and said it was choreographed. Now it’s called Wrestling “entertainment” and they use an acronym hoping you’ll forget what they said before. Is this the fate of Reality Shows? Now that the viewers are hooked will these shows be choreographed, making them more and more outrageously real? Add to this a host with an Australian accent and an Erectile Dysfunction sponsor and you got yourself a hit show.

Lets not forget politics isn’t immune to the reality fever everyone is trying to leverage. I’m a devout Republican, but the VP choice in the last election really had me scratching my head. He picked who? An obscure governor from a state with more Snowshoe Hares than people? Then the reality factor reared its ugly head. Hints of scandal in her cabinet; a pregnant, unwed daughter; a bridge to nowhere, this had all the makings for a “Housewives of Anchorage” series not a political campaign. I truly believe Mr. McCain’s intentions to right the wrongs of our nation were sincere, but they were completely buried in the media frenzy that followed his decision. Maybe if Kate Gosselin had been available things could have worked out better for him? Sadly, by November Mr. McCain’s intentions had done more to raise the ratings for SNL than the confidence of the nation.

So what’s next? It would appear these Hollywood visionaries have created a monster. The challenge now is trying to satisfy the insatiable thirst for misery and hostility we crave week after week. The obvious answer is a Reality version of The Running Man. “Inmate” shows have been popping up in the television lineup over the past couple of years, so why not take it to the next level and do something that might have an effect on the surplus prison population, one week at a time? Or, given the economic climate of the nation, why not a Reality version of Fun With Dick And Jane? Each week you give an unemployed couple a Bill and Hillary mask and a rubber gun– then let the fun begin! I’m giddy just thinking about all the possibilities.

The one positive note I’ve found in Reality programming, it has driven me back to reading. I had almost forgotten how good it felt to get lost in a good book. To sidle along behind a character as they introduce you to a small town filled with emotion, a big city wrought with suspense, or the intrigue of an international affair. Now, that’s entertainment. If I want reality, I'll just pull up a lawn chair and break out the popcorn the next time my neighbors have a row. Who knows, it could end up being the next hit show.

Photo courtesy of: www.photos8.com

Barnes & Noble And The Coattails Of Technology

I was very excited to read an article about B&N's efforts in becoming an E-Commerce Retailer. It really gets to the heart of the battle about giving readers what they want, in the form they want it in, and at different price options. With all this doom and gloom forecasting about what technology is doing to the publishing industry it's encouraging to see B&N has taken up the challenge and is charging forward, instead of whimpering in the corner. As an author, I applaud every effort that gets the written word out in front of people. As a reader I have to say, isn't that what it's all about?