So today, I decided to do a few quick Google searches for what popular or successful authors do for fun. I was shocked.

Go ahead. Google it. I dare you.

From what I can tell, writers don’t do much else. Makes sense when you think about it. Hundreds of distractions are released every day whether they’re on your phone, computer or in a shop. Even as we speak I have over fourteen hundred dollars awaiting release (an estimate, but close). I own over two hundred games on computer. I own a multitude of video games for my consoles. I have a faithful schedule when it comes to TV shows. I am in the middle of reading the Qur’an with a multitude of books behind it. Every few weeks two comic book trade paperbacks are delivered to my door. I work forty hours a week. I have two dogs and a girlfriend. Net time per week to do everything I want? Somewhere around negative one hundred and sixty hours a week. Not too bad.

So, ironically, here I sit writing about not writing because of all these distractions.

It seems that if I am to really become serious about writing I need to get rid of these distractions and tackle it head on. For November last year I was able to smash fifty thousand words in three weeks. This year, I’d be lucky if I’ve done ten thousand in a month and a half. Pretty poor effort. I need people to get excited to write and I need to be supported in my writing. I have looked into writing groups in my area, but there isn’t a lot of selection nor consistency. So for now, I walk the path alone.

Also… it’s as hot as the hinges of hell here, at least for a Canadian. That definitely helps with focus (and napping).

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The Chameleon…

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The drive to Duchison was long and monotonous. Tree after tree. Song after song. As I pulled up to the maximum security prison, a guard approached my car at the front gate, his uniform not unlike an official police one.

“Evening Sir, what business do you have at the prison?” His tone was sharp and his eyes surveyed my car.

“I’m here to see an inmate about an ongoing investigation, one Mitch Maloney.” I flashed my badge and the guard snapped it from my hand.

“One moment sir.”

I watched as the guard walked back into his tiny hut and picked up a phone. I could see ice hockey was playing on a small television in front of him as he angled the badge in the dim lighting. When he returned he passed the badge back to me. “Sorry about that,” He smiled. “Protocol.”

With a nod and a smile, I slid my badge back into my pocket and turned to the gates as they opened. The small road lead to a parking lot, where a much angrier looking guard approached my car and waved me into a spot. I turned to him with a smile, and he did all but leer at me. Nice guy. He lead me through gate after security gate until at the last stop I found myself virtually being strip searched.

“Hey watch that, that’s not a weapon!” I felt a slight bit of shame as the guard glanced up at me. He had turned bright red in the face, which meant he probably didn’t want to touch me there either. Suddenly our attentions turned away as five guards and a medic rushed past and into the prison.

“Well that can’t be good.” I muttered, trying to skim over the fact I’d been violated.

The young man cleared his throat and stood with a nod. “It never is.” He gestured to another set of doors and I followed him in.

Ah finally, the meeting room. I walked up and took my place at the desk and waited patiently for Mr Maloney. The place smelled strongly of bleach and perhaps that was why everything seemed so clean. I ran my hand across the smooth desk and felt a small bump upon its surface. As I began to scratch at the tiny imperfection, my concentration was interrupted.

“Detective Ward?”

I turned quickly in surprise and saw two guards standing on either side of an older gentleman in a suit.

“That’s me.” I replied. “What’s going on?”

“My name is Victor Cromwell, and I run this prison.” The older man stated. “I also wanted to ask you the same thing.”

I shook my head. “I don’t understand. I’m here investigating a string of murders in the area and I believe Mr Maloney-”

“Mitch Maloney is dead, Detective.” Victor said bluntly. “He was found in his cell, an apparent suicide.”

“Suicide?” I felt my eyes widen and my heart race. “Pills?”

Victor’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Yes.”

“Now there’s ten victims.” I stated bluntly. “All with the same suicide pattern. Can I see him?”

“You most certainly may not!” Victor stared long and hard at me. “I have half a mind to consider that you were somehow involved in this!”

Reeling in shock, I stepped back. “Me? How would that even be possible I-”

“You what?” Victor spat. “You’re the man’s first visitor in nearly a decade and at your visit we find that somehow he has come across pills and killed himself. This can be no mere coincidence.”

I glanced down to my shoes, one of which was scuffed. “I’ll admit, that is a bit strange. But I was told to come here by someone!”

“And who is that someone?” Victor asked.

“Uhh…” I thought back long and hard. The man had never given me a name. “I cannot recall.”

“Are you truly a detective?” Victor accused. “Or are you simply some poor misinformed sod?”

“Hey now, there’s no need for that.” I moved toward Victor and both guards moved before him.

“Gentlemen, see to it that Detective Ward makes it back to his car.” Victor shook his head. “And don’t bother leaving town, we will have more questions for you soon, of that I am sure.”

The escorted walk back to my car was quick and somewhat aggressive, and as I pulled away the front gate guard waved politely. I shook my head. “Well, that guy doesn’t belong there.”

Suddenly my cell phone began to ring. I pulled off to the side of the road and answered “Hello, this is Detective Ward.”

The voice on the other end sounded slightly familiar. “Detective, we met before… in your office. How did your visit go?”

“He’s dead. As of today.” I said. “Another suicide.”

“Oh, oh no. He was a good man.” The voice said.

I shook my head in disbelief. “So why send me to him, and why is he dead?”

“I wanted you to clear his name. He was set up by The Chameleon.”

“What the hell is The Chameleon?” I demanded.

“Not what, but who.” The voice said quietly. Suddenly a loud beep shattered my thoughts. I pulled the phone from my ear and glanced at it. “Call ended.” I swallowed the lump in my throat.

Hopefully, he’d be alive next time I saw him.

*To possibly be continued*