Saturday, July 30, 2011


One of the things i wanted to do in this book since it deals with people selling their souls to Satan is run away from the tradition of the boring meeting between Satan and an individual and a Contract, Each time you read about the people who sold their soul you never read about any contracts and each circumstance is different because each person has a different set of reasons why they want to sell their souls, some wanted fame some wanted beauty some wanted wealth so I made each ritual a unique this excerpt takes you into one of the most interesting of the rituals it is shocking and makes you uncomfortable and that is exactly what it is supposed to do. This is from the chapter Of Menstrual Blood and Semen.

The cramped space in the bathroom afforded him little space but he didn't mind. The lock on the door gave him a sense of security unattainable in his own bedroom. He figured his parents knew what he was doing but so what? What do you expect from a teenage boy? Stroking his cock was nothing new. The sensory input, the sense of purpose, that was new. He held his sister's used tampon between his teeth. Eyes closed, he was engulfed by the cloying scent of pussy. The metallic taste of her menstrual blood laying across his tongue like a blanket. Images flashed behind his eyelids. Colors he had never imagined began to merge together, they mounted each other, feverishly writhing, creating new colors as they exploded. As his desire became more urgent he tore the tampon from his mouth, wrapping it around the base of his erection. His grip tightened as his body was screaming for release. The blood lubricating, stroke, grasp faster and faster. His heart pounding, he could feel it all, taste the blood, color bursting behind his eyes, lingering scent of pussy clinging to his lip, all of it crescendos to explosion as the semen poured forth mixing with the virginal blood. He collapsed, draping across the pedestal sink panting for breath. He knew now the voices were right. He had never felt anything as powerful as what he had just gone through.

He stood up, careful to not spill one drop of the precious mixture he had created, his offering. He glanced around, making sure he had what he needed. The matches, check. The kindling, yes. Burlap sack, still there. He picked up the glass dish his mother used for burning fragrant oil and squeezed the tampon, filling the glass. His kindling were pages torn from the book of Revelations. The sulfurous smell of the match was quickly overcome by the scent of boiling blood and semen. He placed the blade of his knife into the orange flame and as the blade began to glow red he threw back his head, cried out, "I AM YOURS! DO AS THOU WILT, MASTER!". In his ecstasy he did not feel pain as the glowing blade melted the skin of his wrists, exposing the veins within. The glass containing the offering shattered as an acknowledgement accepting his devotion. He retrieved a fragment of glass still containing the scorched remains of human secretions. He raked the jagged glass across his lips, searing the flesh as he licked the carbonized fluid away.

Another thing i wanted to do is create a picture of Satan that nobody seems to have done before we were raised to believe in the red guy with horns and a spiked tail with a pitchfork. But in my mind Satan is different to all of us that's why at times we hear about Satan in a suit but as we introduce him we learn each person sees something completely their own the hell they know is what they see.
Bailey did an amazing job at describing the vision i had given her "make Satan different to everyone" that's pretty much all i said she creates a dazzling and terrifying Satan!

this excerpt id from the chapter, Like an ever flowing Stream.
As small children a very clear image of Satan is implanted into our minds. A tall horned creature, red skinned, spike tailed with a pointed black goatee. He carries a pitchfork wherever he goes. All strikingly similar to Ming the Merciless from the Flash Gordon movie. Yet we grow, the Ming look seems less scary and a different image takes hold of our imaginations. Satan imagined shifts and changes as we age. He becomes the embodiment of what we fear, loathe and despise. And that is precisely what he means to be.

As Satan passes the threshold of the courthouse door he can feel his accomplishment. Head held high, he stalks by the religious zealots, the Eucharist-throwing fanatics, entering into full view of all those clamoring to see the Devil. He feels each pair of eyes glued on him, he can hear the gasps and smiling to himself envisions the image those people must see. Though he is smartly dressed, a black pin-stripped Armani suit with a tastefully understated tie, the humans surrounding his entourage see that freeze frame of their lives that is their torment. An impotent husband sees his over-bearing mother-in-law, a prostitute sees the uncle that raped her and put her body up for sale, a teenage boy sees the mother who beat him, a priest sees the countless altar boys, the tears running down their faces as the blood poured from their ruined rectums. The mass of humanity, raging, bent on the destruction of the being they hold accountable for their own twisted failures. The click of his heels against the cold marble floor is heard not as footsteps, rather as screams of the tormented, the grating metal cacophony of aeroplanes plunging into the glass windows of the World Trade Center buildings and worse still, the supreme silence of an ended, empty life

The book was going to be called Circle of Dead Children.
The real first image I had was the image of the 18 children dying, I did not know if it was retribution,rebellion or ritual I just knew I had to have 18 dead children this was a key I later found out helping tie the 3 books together.
The Chapter Circle of Dead Children is the first chapter I wrote and it was going to open the book chapter one 18 dead babies, Now its like chapter 6 lol! Just a small piece from the chapter

The next shift of nurses found her on the floor. Theresa was curled into the fetal position, shirt soaked with the froth that poured from her mouth. As they drew closer to look some screamed, one fainted and another vomited. Eighteen infant hearts had burst, eighteen tiny bodies forming a ring around the dead nurse. Eighteen numbers carved in on the heel of brand new feet. A thin trickle of blood had oozed from the carvings to encircled the empty body of the woman.

Hope you all enjoy these The HARVEST will be available on Christmas day ( Its his birthday gift from me )

However we will be taking pre-orders with some special deals included! Meanwhile The short stories that will make up the first volume of The Pitchfork Diaries continue to sell for just $1 as we prepare for the release of The Pitchfork Diaries on Halloween!!!
Sex Satan Sacrifice!

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