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Friday, May 8, 2015

Rubble and wreckage

“Maybe it comes from my bent and twisted psyche, but I wanted to write a story of a serial killer and his biographer, and of two very separate men who find love amidst horror and tragedy.   I have always been drawn to the damaged individuals that become my main characters, and I recognized early on that many readers would be turned off, merely by the bare idea of the sexual attraction between two such unique characters like Gabriel Church, and Christian Maxwell.

I was pleased to see many readers understood the basic concept that you can’t always help who you fall in love with, as some of my fans might attest.  Whether you find yourself drawn emotionally to a drug addict, habitual gambler, unfaithful lover, or in this case a serial killer…love can be a complicated voyage for many of us.  I explored this in my latest release and was overjoyed to see that there were substantial readers who allowed themselves to open to those possibilities and were shocked by the premise as I had originally feared.  I always knew that Gabriel Church would need more delving into, and the sequel “Behold a Pale Rider” is currently  with my fine publishers Driven Press at the time of this writing. 

Gratefully, there was a buzz among reviewers and book lovers, all wanting to learn more about Gabe and Christian and what paths lay in store for their future.  Maybe it is that human condition that we are all looking for the happily-ever after, but my stories predominately carry the pangs of real life; the angst and the bitter medicines, the struggles and the occasional calamities.  But the fans I have made can read more soon, as the sequel is scheduled to be released later this year.  The third and final book is underway as well and yet I still struggle to find a place on the shelf in my mind to store away those fabrications I have come to admire and care about.  I wanted to show those tiny, seemingly random events which can sometimes transform a person.  In this case a heterosexual brutish country boy turned serial killer and the burgeoning sexuality for both principal lead individuals. 

Even as I wrote the first book in the series I knew I was plumbing into a well filled with idiosyncratic treasures.  I was pleased when others joined me in my journey and followed closely behind eager to discover more.  As a writer of mysteries with disturbing, sometimes immorally-compromised main characters, I think I have finally found a place where I am comfortable with residing and I am eager to continue exploring those glittery veins buried in the ore and granite which lead us to the broken, blemished individuals I enjoy so much. 

Look for “Rubble and the Wreckage” at most online vendors and hopefully in brick and mortar stores one day soon.  If you enjoy the work you might consider looking for “Behold a Pale Rider” later in the year.”
                                                            Rodd Clark


Gabriel Church knows you can’t take a life without first understanding just how feeble life is, how tentative and weak it stands alone. If you desire murder, you hold a life in your hand. Whether you release it to grant life or grip tighter to end it, it is at your command and discretion. Gabriel is a serial killer with a story he wants told.

Christian Maxwell studied abnormal psychology in college but chose instead to focus on a career in writing. His background comes in handy when he thinks of writing about a serial killer. He can’t think of anyone more qualified to write the story of Gabriel Lee Church, and do so in the murderer’s own words. It’s been done before, but never with a killer who has yet to be captured or convicted.

There was never anything more than a gentleman’s understanding between the two men that Christian would record Gabriel’s life story. The killer did not ask for his complicity in any crimes, nor did he ever ask for his silence. Christian’s interest in the man, though, is fast becoming something more than academic. When the writer and his subject become unexpected friends and then lovers, the question remains: What is Gabriel’s endgame . . . and why does he want his story told?


“I’VE BEEN CAREFUL not to ask before now, but how many would you say you’ve killed?”
It had already whispered in his brain. There were ramifications to the answer that he didn’t really want to explore. But how could Christian complete his manuscript without knowing the answer?
“An actual accounting? I suppose I can understand why that number might be important to you, but people who become victims, are not necessarily just numbers in my eyes. Think of it as a journey, and they’re not people, but mile markers.”
With that cold, analytical retort, Church had once again slipped into another persona. His grin faded with every flash of memory he was forced to relive. His posture seemed guarded and closed at first, but as he reclined back into the salon chair with his naked chest exposed and the writer’s eyes darting uncomfortably back and forth, another unseen personality found its way to the surface. This one wanted nothing more than to unbalance Christian and gain some sadistic enjoyment in watching him squirm under all that unspoken pressure. Church rested his head inside the crux of his massive intertwined palms and set out to witness Christian dance under his manipulations.
Church reminded him of an old tomcat he once had, one who loved to catch mice but spent almost an hour batting the poor thing from paw to paw while the rodent breathed its heavily labored final breaths from its many failed attempts to escape death. Eventually that old barn cat would tire of his own game and pull the mouse’s head off with a single bite before dragging it off to the shadows, presumably to eat. It was just like the game Church enjoyed playing with him. And as it went was proving effective. Christian didn’t like being in Church’s company when both were relaxed, when both could shed the professionalism of their relationship and become friendly. He also did not like the distraction of such a tantalizing figure sitting so close to him. He expected by now, he would’ve been more composed and calm, and given it all, it was rather amazing just how collected he appeared, given that Church was still just a few feet away. It had only been a couple of hours. The tea pitcher was draining and the sandwiches were growing stale. He’d hoped by then he would have gotten used to being in the killer’s company, that he’d be accustomed to the sensual way Church would bite his bottom lip when he remembered something painful, or that he didn’t get a tad panic-stricken when the man would brush past him or reach over him to grab another quarter-cut club sandwich from the tray. But time refused to alter his nervous state. “I think the readers would like to know if there had ever been time for romance during all the killings.” Christian carried the pretense of writing and never raised his head.
“Yes, I’m sure the readers want to know that.  But I would have to tell them I never had much interest in what you call romance. I got laid. I found occasion to blow my jizz wherever I wanted, yes. But ‘romance’ is for fourteen-year-old schoolgirls, don’t you think?”
“So, during the height of the murders, or before, there was never any person who you were involved with? No one who might have altered your, err, homicidal course at any time?”
Church stared over the rim of his glass of tea at Christian. There was an unfamiliar look in his eyes, he seemed to be both exploring the man’s question and considering for the first time the possibility that someone he might have loved could have changed his destiny, for the better. But the black cloud reassembled somewhere on his face.
“I was never in love, so the point is moot I suppose. Since I have never loved another person, then I guess my destiny was, as they say, pre-ordained. I didn’t become a better man because no one ever mattered enough to me. Then again, that works on the assumption that I’m not a good man, even currently, doesn’t it?”
“Do you consider yourself a good man?” Christian decided, rather resolutely, that he wouldn’t get answers to all of his questions, but he traveled the path forward and trained his eyes on the killer to await a reply.
“Good is a relative term. I’m good at what I do, I don’t hurt the ones I kill unnecessarily, so I suppose it’s up for debate.”
“I beg to consider, the families of your victims may not agree with you.”

Author’s Bio:

Rodd Clark lives in Dallas, TX at the moment, yet claims to hail from the deep sticks of rural Oklahoma. You may check out his web presence at RODDCLARK.COM.  You will find he has a consuming interest in the M/M Mystery, Romance and Thriller genres, but he acknowledges a love of many different kinds of books in many areas.  Reviewers have written that he has a darkly distinctive voice and explores the deep characterizations of his story-telling with concerted care.  



Amazon Author Page:

1 comment:

  1. I found your story to be among the most unforgettable I've ever read. "Flawed" does not quite describe a serial killer, but the description of the deep veins in his granite exterior works well for me. In fact, your prose ... metaphoric, raw, unique ... will keep me reading your books, Rodd Clark.

    You deserve to be set on a shelf with the best creators of dark heroes.