Damon Starts the Eighth Grade in THE SECRET CLUB, and Then Things Get Worse

When I was a kid, the coolest thing I could imagine would be to possess a super-power. I wasn't picky. Any power would do: super-strength, super-speed, flight, hurling energy bolts from my hands... heck, even the ability to bounce like a rubber ball would have its uses (well, it did for Bouncing Boy of the Legion of Super-Heroes).

In my first novel, THE POWER CLUB, I tried to tap into that feeling of being a kid and what it would be like to have have a power. Of course, powers come at a cost--in this case, freedom. Society simply can't have kids who teleport or grow to 30 feet tall or create rifts to other dimensions running around without keeping an eye on them. Thus, the kids have to live in the District, where mysterious leaders monitor what they can do.

Another cost? The power you have may not be the coolest or the most useful--at least at first.

Those were the themes I explored in THE POWER CLUB and take a step further in its just-published sequel, THE SECRET CLUB.

Set almost a year after the events of The Power Club, THE SECRET CLUB finds Damon entering the eighth grade--but things are nothing like he expected. Due to the influx of more kids with powers, the District has grown and the eighth grade has been moved to the high school. Instead of being in the top grade at the old school, Damon finds himself in the lowest grade at the new school.

He has to start over with new friends, new teachers, and new dangers lurking around every corner.

On his first day at the new school, he runs afoul of one such danger simply by walking down a hall:

Watch it!”

            Damon heard the warning a split second before he rounded a corner and collided with a wall. But this wall looked like a torso. He bounced back as if he’d landed face first on a trampoline and fell back on his butt. His books, class schedule, map scattered across the floor.

            A chorus of kids burst into laughter. Terrific. First day of school, and I’ve already made a fool of myself. He looked up to see what he had hit.

            The wall was in fact a torso. A towheaded youth towered over him like a mountain. Damon had never seen so many muscles, which rippled through the boy’s arms as if he were a cartoon character. A thin, long face perched atop a massive torso. The boy wore a plain t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up so there was no mistaking that the muscles were his.

            “That’s what you get for not paying attention!” the youth said.

            “I would,” Damon fired back, “but I didn’t expect to run into Mount Kilimanjaro!” He remembered Mount Kilimanjaro from geography class. Using humor might help him recover face.

            The youth’s smug expression turned into a hateful scowl. “I don’t like smart-asses!” he said, as he stomped toward Damon. The floor shook. The boy grabbed Damon and lifted him up over his head. Damon felt a rush of blood as he stared down at other kids, who paused in the hallway to laugh at him.

            He breathed in sharply. He could exhale—but what good would the darkspace do him in this situation? (THE SECRET CLUB, p. 13)

And that would be bad enough if his darkspace--his ability to create a cloud of darkness--didn't keep turning itself off and on at will.

And then things get worse.

What do you do when an old enemy shows up and wants to start a war with ords? Why, you form a Secret Club, of course!

Find out what happens in THE SECRET CLUB, now available on Amazon!

Okay, Mr. Writer, What Makes The Power Club So Special?

One of the cool things about publishing a book is getting interviewed. One blogger recently sent me a series of questions, and, while I enjoyed answering them all, one threw me. The blogger asked: Super-hero stories are quite common these days. What makes The Power Club unique?

It’s a fair question. Every writer should know what makes his or her book stand above the herd. In my mind, I’ve rehearsed an answer to such questions ever since I started writing PC. Yet answering that question for real requires the writer to take a good, hard look at his or her work, delve into personal reasons why he or she wrote the book in the first place, and connect those reasons with readers who will buy and (we hope) love the book.

It’s especially a fair question today with movie theaters glutted with Avengers and JLA movies. What makes PC—a story about kids with super-powers—different?  One obvious answer is that these kids are forced to live in a place known as “the district,” which restricts the use of their powers and keeps a careful, perhaps sinister, watch over them.

But there’s more to it than that. Herewith is my attempt to give a more complete answer to “What makes The Power Club unique?”

         1. PC is a deeply personal story which combines elements of real life and fantasy.

Growing up in the small Midwestern city of St. Joseph, MO, I dreamed of having super-powers and friends who had powers so we could form our own super-hero team. For a fleeting summer, a bunch of neighborhood kids and I, fueled by comic books and cartoons, pretended we were super-heroes. Then they moved on to other things (sports and cars), but I never did. In the back of my mind, I always wondered, “What if our super-team had been real?”

Also, I felt a sense of confinement in my neighborhood and hometown, just as Damon, the main character in PC, feels confined in the district. All the “real” super-heroes lived in New York or imaginary cities such as Metropolis and Coast City. I wanted to explore the world, but I was “stuck” in St. Joseph.

A third strand came from the realization that the world outside the safe confines of St. Joseph was a scary place (and it could be scary inside St. Joseph, as well). Suicide bombers and mass shooters were extremely rare in those days, but the world always seemed to be on the brink of nuclear disaster. Until I was almost 12, there were constant reminders that—as a young male—I could be drafted and sent off to fight in a war. When I was about Damon’s age, a cult led by the Rev. Jim Jones committed mass suicide. These events formed my perceptions of the world and fueled my desire to do something about them.

This isn’t to say that PC is based on fear. Quite the contrary, I hope readers derive a sense of hope and optimism from it. Yes, the world is screwed up, and there is much outside our control. However, we can do something about our own choices.

Fear, then, is a motivating factor in the book, and it hits Damon from all sides. He must contend with super-powered bullies as well as the district itself, which conspires against him. How Damon responds to these challenges determines who he is.

 2. PC isn’t just about good guys versus bad guys. Sometimes it's difficult to know what a good guy should do.

Many super-hero stories succeed because they are comforting and familiar. We know who the good guys are and who the bad guys are, and we know the good guys will win after they overcome many obstacles. But in PC, the obstacle and the choices the characters make to overcome them aren't so clear cut.

The PC characters share at least one common obstacle: they are young. They don’t have the resources, independence, or experience of adult heroes. They must contend with real-world challenges such as going to school, obeying rules, and even attending birthday parties. All of these things get in the way of being heroes.

Damon and some of the other characters have to make difficult choices in order to become heroes. One character lies to her parents so she can participate in a mission. Damon must decide whether to kick another member out of the club. He also learns that the district, which is supposed to protect him, uses dirty tricks to keep him from becoming a hero. Sometimes, doing "the right thing" is hard when there are competing choices.

Being a hero is also dangerous business, and this is shown in the book. Stopping a scared mob is one thing, but going up against real criminals is another. Some members of the PC question whether they want to be heroes, and the sacrifices they have to make. So, PC turns this assumption on its head: Just because you have powers doesn’t mean you can or want to be a hero.

      3. PC wasn’t written to cash in on trends and fashions.

Okay, I hope PC is a big success, and if it rides the current wave of super-hero popularity, so much the better. However, my goal is for PC to have universal appeal and to live on, be read, and be discussed for years. Though I don’t pretend to compare my book to Harry Potter, I think some lessons can be learned from J.K. Rowling’s series. HP is not just about a kid who wants to become a wizard; it’s about a kid who, bereft of a loving family, seeks to find his place in the world. This is something all kids everywhere can identify with. 

Likewise, PC is about kids discovering their special abilities and trying to figure out what those abilities mean for them and the world.

That’s my take on what makes PC unique. For another perspective, here’s a gracious review written by the Blushing Bibliophile:

THE POWER CLUB Now Available on Amazon

I'm taking a sabbatical from the blog, but I wanted to let everyone know that the new version of The Power Club is now available on Amazon. Check it out.

Here is the brand spanking new ebook cover:


"Some kids play piano. Some make hook shots.

Some create darkness
. . . or teleport
. . . or fly.

Damon has what ordinary kids want: a power.

"Ords" have what he wants: freedom.

If he joins a 'special club,' he can use his power freely. But getting into a club isn't easy, and joining one is just the beginning."










And here's the full print cover:

Special thanks to my agent, Stephanie Hansen, for getting PC this far, and to Rogue Phoenix Press for taking a chance!

A Dream Diary: Of Damon, Guitars, and Open Doors

I had a dream this morning in which a member of my church, an older lady, came to my house to deliver a mechanical device I had bought. There's nothing very special about this set-up, as far as dreams go, but there are some things you need to know in order to understand the context:

• This lady experienced some financial difficulties a few years ago and tried to interest me in a product she was selling. However, I did not have the money myself.
• In the dream, she was working for Google or some other high-tech company. She wore a uniform consisting of a white shirt, tie, shorts, and cap. She drove a Google (or whatever) van.
• In the dream, I was living at my old house in St. Joseph, MO. This two-story, 100-plus-year-old house with its high ceilings and two living rooms often appears in my dreams, even though I haven't lived there since 1993.

Anyway, she showed me how to use the device, which we set up in the kitchen. Among its many features, the device auto-tuned my guitar--which thrilled me.

We retired to the living room to settle the account. Another Google (or whatever) employee was there, a friendly older woman whom I showed to the door and watched get in her own Google van and drive away. My church friend lingered, though, and tried to interest me in buying a second device as a gift for someone. Initially, I agreed because I wasn't sure what she was asking. When I realized I would be paying out an extra $189 for the second device and had no idea who I would give it to, I declined.

I returned to the kitchen, picked up my now auto-tuned guitar, and started strumming some riffs I knew. I played the opening to "China Grove" by the Doobie Brothers--an infectious riff but easy to play--but couldn't get the volume on the guitar loud enough. After fiddling with the controls, I returned to the living room, where I thought my friend would be finishing up the account. However, she had left. The front door stood ajar, so I went outside, but her Google (or whatever) van was also gone.

***

So much goes into dreams. People, objects, and surroundings from different chapters of our lives can combine and collide into new relationships, leaving us wondering how they all fit together and what the dream means. I've read several books and websites on dream interpretation, but none have proved satisfying. The most logical explanation for dreams, I think, is that they simply represent our minds at play: sorting out ideas and information.

Dreams are also the stuff of fiction: they encourage us to defy logic and sense and just "play"--as we used to when we were children (or still do if we haven't fallen victim to the disease known as Growing Up or have children of our own to give us an excuse to play). Dreams exist for no other reason than the joy of playing. But dreams can also tell us a lot about ourselves.

***

I'm currently writing the sequel to The Power Club; it begins with a dream. Damon, my now 14-year-old protagonist, finds himself seated with his family in a fancy restaurant--but the menu is written in hieroglyphics! Far from being disturbed by this, Damon relishes the chance to explore another language. But then the dream changes, and Damon finds himself among the other members of the Power Club, the group of powered teens he joined in the first book. They want to explore a cave, but Damon fears that if he enters the cave he will lose his power--the ability to create darkness. The others dismiss his fears and run into the cave, leaving Damon behind.

And then the alarm goes off, and it's time for school.

I'm not sure what significance the dream holds in the story yet, but it does reveal a lot about Damon's fears and how he feels about how things ended in the first book (no spoilers!). It also tells us something about what he wants.

***

Likewise, I'm not sure what my dream reveals--if anything. However, it does expose, albeit indirectly, some of my own wants, fears, and feelings about certain situations. Like Damon, I want my presence in the world to count for something and for my special talents to be recognized. I want to help those close to me but struggle to understand the limits and boundaries of relationships. I also feel sad when people disappear from my life, or when I disappear from theirs (which sometimes happens), without a clear understanding of or resolution to the relationship.

And, like Damon, I sometimes just want to hit the snooze alarm and go back to sleep before being thrust out into a chaotic world where I must make sense of incomplete information and mixed motivations. In a dream, at least, I don't have to pretend I understand anything.

NOTE: The Open ClipArt site says the photo above can be by anybody for any reason whatsoever. That's great, but I always feel an artist or site should be attributed. If you want more information, go to Photo: https://openclipart.org/detail/259927/surreal-valley-of-lost-drea

Damon and the Forbidden Neighborhood: A Power Club Halloween Story (Part 2 of 2)

Start here for Part 1.  

        When Damon reached the curb, he took a shallow breath. This trick he had recently learned made the darkspace thin enough so he could see if any cars were coming. There were none, so he burst into a run. As he crossed the street, he heard the voices of the others. It sounded like they were cheering him on, so he ran faster.

          It took longer to reach the other side of the street than Damon had thought. Sometimes it was difficult for him to judge distances inside the darkspace, and there were no bushes or trees or houses to indicate how close he was to the other side. Finally, he reached the other curb. A fireplug appeared in view, as his darkspace surrounded it to let him know he had made it.

           Damon walked up the street a ways, thinking he must surely be where the others were by now. Why hadn’t they appeared inside his darkspace? Then he realized they were probably scared of it, like people sometimes were, and were making sure they stayed outside of it. He decided to make the darkspace go away and tell everyone it was safe to be inside the darkness. Then maybe they could go trick-or treating inside the darkspace. He laughed as he imagined going up to someone’s house, knocking on the door, and scaring people, who would only see a cloud of darkness! That, he decided, would be the best trick ever!

          But when he inhaled and made the darkspace go away, he was stunned.

          None of the houses on this block looked familiar, and none of them had their porch lights on.

          Oh, no! I’ve crossed the boulevard, he realized. That’s why it took so long to cross the street. It wasn’t the street at all. I’m in the Forbidden Neighborhood.

          But it was no big deal, he thought. He’d just go back the way he came. He turned to walk down the hill, but something blocked his path. In the darkness—no streetlights were even on—he strained to see what was ambling toward him. The figure looked no bigger than a kid, maybe a year or two older than he was, but it was very skinny and lurched as it walked. Damon thought it was just some guy out trick or treating, but when the figure was close enough to see clearly, Damon jumped back.

          The first thing he noticed was a toothless mouth drawn tight across a bony face. Dead eyes stared at him from underneath wisps of hair which hung limp across an exposed skull. The figure was clad in what must have once been a tee-shirt and jeans but were now rags. A bony, rotted hand reached out toward Damon.

          “Th-that’s a neat costume!” Damon said, hoping it was a costume.

          The figure strained to speak. “Giiiiimmeeee caaaan-dee!”

          Damon realized the figure was pointing to his bag of candy. Too terrified to move, Damon could only joke, “D-don’t zombies eat brains?”       

          The figure lunged, moving faster than Damon thought possible. But it was off-balance and Damon easily stepped aside. All Damon would have to do now, he thought, was run back toward his side of the district. But before he could take another step, he heard a scraping sound from the middle of the street. He glanced over and saw a manhole cover being shifted. Then, to Damon’s horror, another figure much like the first emerged.

          This zombie had no hair at all, and its jaw hung lopsided on the bottom of its skull. The sight so revolted Damon, he thought he might throw up. But now a third zombie appeared from somewhere behind Damon—this one was missing its head, but its exposed rib cage, outstretched arms and bony legs were coming right toward him. The zombies made a noise which sounded like chanting and moaning, and a horrible smell permeated the air. To Damon, it smelled like rotten eggs and bad breath—the smell of death.

          Damon wanted to run as fast as he could back to his side of the district, but he was too scared to move. Instead, he exhaled and the darkspace came, surrounding him. He felt safe, at last. The zombies would not be able to find him in the cloud of darkness.

          The second zombie wandered inside the darkspace and appeared momentarily confused. A noseless face sniffed the air, and then it reached out and grabbed Damon by the sleeve of his costume. “Weee smeeeellll youuu!” it taunted through its lopsided jaw.

          Damon somehow shook loose and found he could move again. The darkspace was not helping him, so he inhaled, making it go away. Then he tossed the bag of candy on the ground in front of the second zombie. “Here! Take it!” he screamed.

          “Tooo laaaate!” said the third zombie, whose somehow seemed to be talking without a mouth or even head. “Waaaant toooo eaaaat youuuu!”

          Damon screamed as loud as he could, thinking he might scare the zombies away, but they did not leave.

          Someone—or something—landed on the sidewalk a few feet away from him. It snarled as it grabbled the headless zombie and tossed him into a nearby yard. The new arrival moved so fast Damon couldn’t see what it was at first, but, finally it stopped and growled at the two remaining zombies. Fangs protruded from a maw below a ridged snout. Yellow eyes peered out from dark fur, as the creature swiped at the two zombies with huge claws.

          A werewolf! Damon thought, his heart pounding faster than ever.

          The zombies ambled away as fast as they could. But now the werewolf turned and faced Damon.

***

          Damon remembered seeing a movie about a werewolf when he was a little kid. It had given him nightmares for a week. Now the nightmare was standing before him. Damon was too scared to even exhale.

          But there was something odd about this werewolf. Its eyes consisted of round, black circles surrounded by deep yellow, yet somehow they looked kind. A large, hairy paw scooped Damon’s bag of candy off the sidewalk. I guess werewolves like candy, too, Damon thought. But then the werewolf did something totally unexpected. It held the bag out toward Damon. Is . . . is it giving it back to me?

          The werewolf glanced over its shoulder and then nodded urgently toward the bag. Damon carefully reached forward to take the bag, but something appeared in the sky. It looked like a flaming bottle rocket. It flew between Damon and the werewolf and struck the bag of candy, causing it to burst into flames. The werewolf dropped the bag, and Damon could only watch as fire consumed all the candy he had gotten.  Damon glanced warily at the werewolf, who seemed just puzzled as he was.

          From the yard where the headless zombie had been thrown, a new creature appeared. Damon rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The new creature was clad in an old-time suit with a vest and trousers. It appeared human except for its head, which looked just like a jack-o-lantern with an evil grin. Damon didn’t know whether to laugh or be scared. In one of the creature’s hands, it appeared to be carrying something on fire. It made an eerie sound as it reached back like a ball player and tossed the ball of flame, which barely missed Damon.

          Damon and the werewolf ran in opposite directions, but Damon got only a few feet when he saw second jack-o-lantern coming toward him, its arms outstretched to make sure Damon couldn’t get away. He looked back and saw the werewolf confronting a third jack-o-lantern.

          “We was just havin’ fun with the kid, wolfie” the third jack-o-lantern said. “You shoulda’ minded your own business!”

          It struck Damon as odd that the jack-o-lantern didn’t have a creepy voice. It had the deep-nasal voice of a boy in his early teens.

          “Yeah,” the second jack-o-lantern said, “now we’ll just have our fun with you!” This creature, too, sounded like a teenager. It made another pitcher toss, and hurled a ball of flame past the werewolf, grazing its shoulder. The werewolf howled in pain as it danced around, trying to put out the fire in its fur.

          Damon didn’t know what to do. He turned to run, but the third jack-o-lantern cut him off. “Not so fast, kid,” it said. “You’re in the wrong neighborhood, so you’re next!”

          A strange idea occurred to Damon: These weren’t real monsters at all, but powered kids, like him, who probably had some sort of shape-changing power. Real monsters don’t make threats, he concluded. Zombies may be able to smell him in the dark, but he wondered if jack-o-lanterns could. He exhaled, and the darkspace came—spreading over him, the werewolf, and all three jack-o-lanterns. The first two stopped advancing on the werewolf, and the third, likewise, stopped moving behind Damon.  Their hands flailed about in a vain attempt to grab onto something.

          Damon realized he could run back to his side now, and he would reach the boulevard before the monster-kids had a chance to react. But then he noticed the werewolf, who had managed to put out the fire on its shoulder and was also feeling around in the dark, confused. Whatever this creature was—another kid or something else—it had tried to help Damon. He couldn’t just leave it.

          He concentrated, opening a soundspace directly to the werewolf. He didn’t know if the werewolf could even understand speech, but he tried anyway. “Hey! Follow me! Follow the sound of my voice!” The werewolf perked up and nodded. Damon then turned and ran as fast as he could down the hill, occasionally saying “This way! This way!” so the werewolf wouldn’t get lost. Damon did not slow down until the fireplug he had seen before reappeared inside the darkspace.

          He came to a stop at the edge of the curb, but, once again, he did not know what to do. If he sent the darkspace away, would the werewolf turn on him? Damon was trying to remember the movie he had seen so long ago. In it, the werewolf was just like an animal; it couldn’t control itself or think like a person. Yet this werewolf had tried to help him.

          But as Damon turned to tell the creature it could stop running, he noticed it no longer looked like a werewolf. It looked like a kid, about his age—a very hairy kid, to be sure, with mounds of hair shedding on the sidewalk behind him. The snout had shrunk into a normal-sized nose, and the fangs had become smaller, less menacing. “Please,” the boy said in a voice which was half growl, half human, “whatever you’re doing, make it go away so I can see again.” He sounded almost afraid.

          Damon inhaled, and the darkspace vanished.

          The boy blinked several times as his eyes grew accustomed to the bright light under the street lamp. Damon watched, amazed, as the boy continued to transform. The dark fur was replaced by blonde hair, cut neatly in bangs. His yellow and black eyes were now green. Most importantly, the boy stood before him almost naked, expect for some cut-off shorts.

          Not knowing what else to say, Damon asked, “Aren’t you cold?”

          The boy shrugged. “Not yet. I still have some of the wolf blood in me. I’ll transform back in a few minutes, as soon as you’re safely across the street.  But that’s a neat trick you did back there. Did you make the Pickett brothers blind, too?

          “Pickett brothers?”
          “Those three guys. First they were zombies and then they were jack-o-lanterns. They love to terrorize the neighborhood on Halloween. That’s why no one goes out trick-or-treating.”

          Damon smiled, realizing he was right after all: Those kids weren’t monsters. They were just powered kids, like him. Damon explained what his darkspace could do, and then asked the boy if he was a shape-shifter, too.

          “Sort of,” the boy said, sounding dejected. “But I can only turn into something like a werewolf. It’s good for Halloween, I suppose. I may not be able to go trick-or-treating, but I can still get out. I was leaping across some rooftops when I heard you scream.”

          Leaping across rooftops. The idea thrilled Damon. He recalled how Kyle could teleport and Vee could run at super-speed. “I wish I could leap across rooftops,” he said, absently.

          “I wish I could do what you can do,” the boy replied. “Then  I could live in the regular part of the district instead of here, in the Forbidden Neighborhood.”

          Damon wished he still had his bag of candy so he could offer the boy some candy for helping him. Instead, he said, “Why don’t you come across the boulevard with me? We’ll pick up some more Halloween bags at my house and go trick-or-treating together?”

          The boy shook his head. “I can’t,” he said, pointing to his leg. Damon hadn’t noticed the boy was wearing a metal ankle bracelet with a single, glowing red light in the center. “All the powered kids in the Forbidden Neighborhood have to wear them,” he said. “It’s how the district keeps us on this side.”

          Damon suddenly felt angry. All the rules he had to live by—like not being allowed to use his power in public—were nothing compared to what this poor kid had to live with. Damon could at least go where he pleased and could go out trick-or-treating with his friends.

          Speaking of his friends, Damon thought they must have wondered what had happened to him by now. So Damon and the boy said their goodbyes. Before he ran back across the boulevard, however, Damon asked the boy, “What’s your name?”

          The boy’s face lit up, as if it had been a long time since anyone had asked him his name. “Eduardo," he answered. "Call me Eddie."

          Damon told the boy his name and wondered if they would ever meet again as he ran back to his side of the district. When he reached the curb, he found his brother waiting for him.

          “Damon! There you are!” Eldon shouted with a sigh of relief. “Where’ve you been? We saw your darkspace cross the boulevard and yelled that you were going the wrong way. Didn’t you hear us?”

          Damon admitted he had, but the thin darkspace had garbled their voices. “I thought you were cheering me on,” he said sheepishly.

          “Cheering you on!” Eldon seemed more annoyed than angry. “Don’t ever do that again! You almost gave me a heart attack.”

          Damon didn’t know if it was possible for a kid Eldon’s age to have a heart attack. He looked around. “Hey, where are the others?”

          “Oh, they got bored waiting for you,” was the answer. “They went to Kyle’s house to play video games.”

          “Why did you wait for me?”

          Eldon looked dumbfounded. “Damon, you’re my brother. If anything happened to you, I don’t know what I’d do.”

          Damon was genuinely touched, and he felt ashamed that he had earlier thought of “losing” Eldon while trick-or-treating by running ahead of him. Suddenly, going out dressed as a twin skeleton didn’t seem so bad, after all.

          “Come on,” Damon said, as he started up the street.

          “Where are we going?” asked Eldon.

          “Back home. I need to get another bag so we can keep trick or treating.”

          Eldon stared at him in disbelief. “Trick-or-treating? Just you and me?”

          “Sure,” Damon said. “I’ll race ya!” He took off, but he deliberately ran slowly so Eldon could catch up. 

False Alarm, Power Club Prequel, Now Available

I am pleased to announce the publication of my second book, False Alarm: A Power Club Novella™.

Set three years before The Power Club™, False Alarm is an origin story, of  sorts, for Denise, who doesn't have a super-power. Even so, she is forced to live in "the district" along with her parents and brother, Vee, who developed his power of super-speed at a young age.

At least Denise gets to ride the bus to school outside the district, explore the city on field trips, and make friends with other normal kids. She does not want to be like the powered kids, who must stay in the district, safe from those who might exploit or hurt them—much like the ants in her ant farm.

But then she starts to experience events which haven't happened yet.

Is she developing the power to see the future—the rarest power of all—or is she merely jealous of Vee's special abilities?

And what is she supposed to do when she has a recurring vision of a burning building?

False Alarm explores the idea of what it would truly be like to have a super-power. Would it be a blessing or curse—or both?

False Alarm: A Power Club Novella™is available in both paperback and Kindle editions.

Be sure to check out last week's post in which I answer 3.5 questions about False Alarm.

Three and a Half Questions for FALSE ALARM

Special shout-out and thanks to Laura Packer for this insightful post on her blog. I decided to take her advice and ask myself the 3.5 questions about my forthcoming book, FALSE ALARM: A POWER CLUB NOVELLA™.

Here are the results:

1. What do you love about this story?

FALSE ALARM grew out of a scene in THE POWER CLUB™ in which 14-year-old Denise confesses to Damon that she's not confident in her ability to see the future because of something horrific that happened. She had had a vision that a certain building would catch fire but did not know when it would happen. She told her parents, who alerted the authorities, but the fire didn't happen when Denise thought it would, so they dismissed her prediction as a false alarm.

Eventually, the building did catch fire and a lot of people died. Even though Denise was not responsible, she felt responsible. It was a very traumatic experience for her and led, in part, to her hiding the nature of her power, even from other kids who had powers.

After writing THE POWER CLUB, I felt there was more to the story, so I wanted to go back in time to when Denise first discovered she could see the future and what this power cost her.

I love this sort of "fill in the blanks" story. It enables us to learn so much more about the characters and their world, and to experience a different side of both. For example, we meet Denise's best friend from before she developed her power. We get a sense of her life before she and her family moved to the district when her brother, Vee, developed his power of super-speed. And we get a sense of the conflict no 11-year-old should ever have to face: choosing between her freedom and doing the right thing.

2. So why do you want to tell it?

In telling Denise's story to others, I am essentially telling it to myself. As I do so, I learn more about Denise and the world of super-powered children who are forced to live in this place called "the district." 

I feel like I am on a shared journey with my readers—a journey to discovering what it would truly be like to have a super-power, to develop one at a young age, and to have your life change dramatically because of it. 

3. Who is your audience ...

I wrote FALSE ALARM with young readers in mind, especially girls age 9-11. But even though the main character is a girl, I imagine boys will love the story, too. As a boy, I enjoyed reading stories about girls (even though I would never admit it) because I learned to see the world through the eyes of someone different from myself. 

As young children, I think we are more open to such experiences than we are later, when we are taught that boys should like certain things and girls should like other things.

This is particularly a problem today because some claim there's no point in creating super-hero comics or toys for girls because "girls don't like super-heroes." I want to challenge that stereotype because I know plenty of women who like super-heroes!

I also wrote FALSE ALARM with fans of THE POWER CLUB in mind, though you do not have to have read the novel to understand this story. In fact, if you haven't read THE POWER CLUB, this story makes a good jumping-on point.

3.5. ... What do they need? 

This is a tough one. In Laura's original post, she talked about what your audience needs when you are telling this story to them, such as rhymes for small children. My readers will be reading my book, and I hope I have made it accessible and engaging for them.

Beyond that, I think what my audience needs is a sense of empowerment in a very troubled and dangerous world—a world in which we can't get away from disasters in the news and on social media. What would happen if you couldn't get away from such things even in your dreams? What if you could do something about it? What would you do? 

I think that's what my readers need: a sense of who they truly are and the difference they can make in this world.

POWER CLUB Prequel to be Published . . . Shortly!

I'm proud to announce that my second book, FALSE ALARM: A POWER CLUB NOVELLA™, will be published soon.

FALSE ALARM ™ takes place three years before THE POWER CLUB™ and tells the story of one of the future PC members, Denise Evans.

Denise was forced to move to the district for super-powered kids when her brother, Vee, developed super-speed. But Denise gets to leave the district every day when she goes to school. She gets to see the city and make friends with other normal kids. 

But all of that starts to change when she experiences things which haven't happened yet, including a horrific vision of a burning building.

If Denise tells others of her vision, she will lose what little freedom she has. If she doesn't people may die. 

Excerpts from the book were published on this site last year, but have since been revised,

In the meantime, here is an excerpt that wasn't in the previous version, Enjoy!

That night, Denise turned in early. Not even a back yard game of catch with Vee could take her mind off of what she had felt on the bus. She thought she should tell her mother about the sensation, but Vera Evans spent the evening pouring over research from work, and Denise didn’t want to disturb her. Her father was working late at the bank, as usual.

            So Denise went to her room and studied her ant farm for a while. She loved to watch the ants crawl through the layers of tunnels. Their tiny legs looked mechanical and powerful. She felt almost bad for the ants because they were trapped in the ant farm, much like she felt trapped in the district. She was keeping them safe, she told herself, from being stepped on or being eaten by larger bugs. Just like kids with powers had to be kept safe from their powers and from people who would take advantage of them.

Denise drifted off as she watched them and shut her eyes.

            Smoke filled her bedroom. A thick smoke even blacker than the darkness surrounding her. How am I seeing this? As if in response, a glow appeared from nowhere—red-orange. Fire!

            A hand reached for a door in the middle of the room. Door? There’s no door in the middle of my bedroom!  She looked around for her ant farm, but couldn’t find it. Nothing seemed familiar. Her nightstand and the lamp were gone.

She looked back at the door. The hand was now opening the door. STOP! DON’T OPEN IT! she heard herself shout. An instant later, she was engulfed by blinding light and searing heat.

            She woke and sat up. Her ant farm stood on the nightstand, just below her lamp, which was still on, just as she had left it. There was no fire.    

FALSE ALARM: A POWER CLUB NOVELLA™ will be available in paperback and Kindle versions through Amazon. I'll also be carting copies around to sell to anyone I can!

The current plan is to have it available in early July. Watch this space for more details.

    

"False Alarm": A Power Club Short Story (Part 5)

[One more scene from the work in progress.]      

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4

       The next day, the officer boarded the bus and briefly glanced at Denise, just as he did most of the other kids.  Denise allowed herself to breathe normally only after she was well away from the district.  There was no vision this time, neither when the officer came aboard nor when the bus passed the chalk white building.  In fact, there was no vision the next day, either.

            But the following Monday, Denise received a shock as she reached her usual seat on the bus.

            “Where’s Sheila?” she called around. Sheila always boarded the bus before Denise. She looked around to see if Sheila had decided to sit somewhere else, but she was nowhere to be found.

            “Where’s Sheila?” she repeated to Billy Underwood, who lived next door to Sheila in one of the lower-income neighborhoods in the district.

            Billy shrugged. “I dunno.  She wasn’t at the bus stop.  Maybe she overslept.”

            “Sheila wouldn’t oversleep.” Denise had stayed over at Sheila’s house several times and knew her friend always rose early--a trait that annoyed Denise because she often liked to sleep late.

            “Maybe she developed a power,” Billy offered with a smirk.

            Denise made a sound of disgust and took her seat.  Billy, as usual, was of no help. Denise knew it was normal for kids to miss school at times, but she couldn’t stop worrying about her friend.  She had a feeling, like sandpaper rubbing against the back of her heart, that Sheila was connected with the vision somehow.

            At recess, Denise found Sheila sitting at a curb at the edge of the playground.      

            “Why weren’t you on the bus today?” she shouted as she ran up to her friend, trying no to let on how worried she’d been.

            Sheila looked as if she hadn’t slept in a week.  “Mom took me to the doctor.  I’ve got a fever.”

            “Why didn’t you stay home?”

            “We can’t afford a sitter.”  Sheila coughed into a tissue.  “Mom said I’ll be all right if I stay away from other kids and don’t strain myself.”  Her voice was barely a croak.

            Denise watched some of the other girls running around the playground.  She longed to join them, but she didn’t want to leave her friend by herself.

            “It’s okay,” Sheila said, apparently guessing what Denise was thinking.  “I’m used to being alone.”

            Denise started to walk off, but something held her back.  It was as if she had some sort of feeling about Sheila.  The sandpaper feeling returned.

            Sheila  croaked, “Why do you keep staring at me?”

            Denise shrugged, figuring that if acting dumb worked for Billy Underwood, it might work for her.

             “Denise, you’re starting to bug me.  Like I said, just leave me alone.”

            “Well, all right,” Denise said in a huff.  She turned and jogged over to join some of the other girls climbing on the monkey bars, but a hacking cough from Sheila jolted Denise’s attention back.  It sounded like a cry for help.

            Sheila sat on the curb as if nothing were wrong and pulled a fresh tissue out of her sweater pocket. 

            Denise stared at her friends fingers and slowly walked back to her.

            “What is it now?” Sheila almost whispered.

            “What’s that on your fingers?”

            Sheila smiled.  “Like it?  My mom painted them last night.”  Sheila splayed her fingers, revealing five painted-on sunflowers.

            “Oh,” Denise said.  She didn’t mean to sound disappointed, but for a moment she expected to see something else.  “I mean, they’re great,” she said, trying to recover quickly.

            If Sheila noticed the awkward compliment, she didn’t let on.  “Mom painted her own nails the same way,” she prattled on.  “Except she painted butterflies instead.”