So, this is text from the upcoming sequel to Henchmen.  Well, it’s actually the first page or so the new book, which is still very much a work in progress.  The feedback I’ve gotten on the first book was generally good, but a lot of people had questions left after they finished it.  Don’t worry, that was intentional.  I didn’t want to spill all the secrets at once because it would have made for a very tedious read.  That said, the sequel will answer some questions and, knowing me, probably raise more questions.  So, here you go, the first bit of the sequel, which is still in need of a good name, unedited and basically raw.


Where were you when it happened?

This is the current question of the day from almost anyone you meet.  No one needs to ask “when what happened?” because we all know what the asker is talking about.

It’s used as an ice breaker, like asking what someone’s major was or their sign is.  It can be a challenge: Where were you when it happened?  It can also just be a straightforward question, a way to find out about someone.

Most people, it seems, still remember exactly where they were, kind of like a lot of people still remember exactly where they were when they found out Elvis was dead (I was six, riding in a car with my mom and asking who is Elvis?) or when the towers came crashing down.

Your answer gives you a certain amount of street cred.  If you say you were in Albuquerque, people act you’re a returning war hero and ask you if you’re OK.  I actually met someone who was in the building when it all went down and barely escaped before the building collapsed.  He was telling the story to people in some bar in Durango and was getting a lot of mileage, and drinks, out of it.  I had to leave before I laughed out loud when he told everyone how he had the beast cornered and would have been able to stop the whole thing if those damned government agents hadn’t screwed the whole thing up.  If you say you were in D.C., people treat you like a refugee from some genocide in Africa.  If you were in Colorado, you’re less of a hero, but all those southwestern states are, like, right next to each other, right?  If you were in Texas you get to act like you could have stopped the whole thing with your trusty six shooter.  Albuquerque gives you the best props, D.C. is a close second.  You lose more and more props the further away you were from either of those places.  If you say you were in Minneapolis no one gives a rat’s ass.

I was at ground zero, riding up an elevator with a demigoddess on one side and the Dreamer on the other, hoping to hell I didn’t get shot when the doors opened.

Needless to say, I don’t bring this up.

Most people shed nary a tear over the death of everyone in Congress.  Someone went so far, probably someone on 4chan, to put up a picture of everyone in the House dead and dismembered with the caption “You can’t spell slaughter without laughter.”  The idea of killing Congress still brings a smile to a lot of faces, but the actuality of killing Congress still terrifies and enrages.

I still get a chuckle out of it, but I’m kind of a dick that way.

4 thoughts on “Preview

  1. Yay! Totally enjoyed the first one, E. This is a nice intro to the second. I could definitely tell a sequel would be forthcoming…

    We’ll have to have a conversation sometime about how the whole self-publishing went for you. I don’t have anything I like enough I would want to take on that journey…yet, but it sounds like its a fun way to MAKE. IT. HAPPEN. should I finally finish writing something I would like to share with the masses. Keep on keepin’ it real!

  2. Self publishing is a slog, I’m not gonna lie to you, but if you enjoy writing it’s a nice thing to be able to do. I decided at some point in the past that I didn’t want to spend all my free time playing games; I wanted to create something rather than just consume things. I started out weaving paracord bracelets and decided to give writing a try. When my wife read the first six pages of the first book and said it looked good, I just went from there. The trick is to just do it, make yourself sit down every night and write something.

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