The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal is Now Available

Hey, folks.

The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal is now available. It is also free to Kindle Unlimited users.

ebook cover for The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal
Suicide has many forms.

The tale of Bob and his asinine ways of killing himself are readily available for all to read. It is cool to reread something, whether it is your friends or your work. It also offers reflection: state of mind, memories, thoughts, and so on.

Suicide has been in my life for a long time now. It has affected myself, my family, and a lot of my friends. This “group” is not even 1% of what goes on in the world. Whether it’s homeless folk, students, celebrities, military, hell, even animals. It’s in our lives, sometimes staring at us right in the face. Most folks though turn a blind eye or sweep it under the rug. Alternatively, folks will jump on the bandwagon after a famous person’s death (i.e., Robin Williams, Chester Bennington, Chris Cornell, etc.) and it’s just an “Oh, hey, yeah I care…” Then they stop and fall off. It shouldn’t take a well-known person’s death to stoke the fire. It’s all around us; it could claim your family, friends, either directly or indirectly. Everyone’s affected.

I’ve struggled for years with PTSD, depression, anxiety, and suicidal thoughts. I’ve done the medicinal routine (didn’t work) and figured one day, somewhere, someone else has it just as bad. I can’t pray for something to be done. I can’t change anything that happened, and I sure as hell can’t do anything if I am sitting around. That was the beginning of the change. It was a domino effect, because then I started to quit smoking, stop drinking soda, and eating better. The depression and dark thoughts were (and are) still there…just a lot more manageable, and under control. My temperament is vastly superior to what it once was, and overall I feel a lot better about myself. I like myself. Before? I used to hate myself. Big change.

Writing helped fill in some of the voids that I felt. It helped purify my thoughts and channeled them into something that I wanted to pursue eventually. Thus, this story, even though it may seem pointless and dumb to one, it is a sort of projection of thoughts any one person can experience and something we do.

When I transitioned out-of-state and was left with the feeling of having no real friends (that I left behind), and combating alcoholism (which, alcohol with depression + anxiety + PTSD = Not Bueno), I was beside myself. Nowadays, even in prior generations, the man must be “a man.” You know, don’t cry, don’t show emotion, be tough; the stereotype that was set up for us so many generations ago. So I kept a lot of my thoughts and feelings in. I hardly shared how I felt, I would try to bear a lot, and just be. It was unhealthy.

Finally, I got back into writing and found a great therapist. After which, while seeing my new therapist, I had then begun a process of “killing myself.” That is, writing down ways I would kill myself, or ideas that I had thought of. Thus, The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal was born and is what is available today.

So, I invite you to pick up a copy and read your heart out. If you like/love it, excellent; alternatively, If you hate it, well, that’s your choice. Life is full of them.

I will still be continuing to donate and advocate Suicide Prevention and Suicide Awareness, so when you purchase a copy, it’s going to go and help people in return.

That’s about all for now. I wish you all well.

Until next time,

RJM

 

 

 

P.S. If someone you know is having suicidal thoughts, talk with them. Don’t disregard their thoughts on the matter. You can also refer them to the Suicidal Prevention Lifeline1-800-273-8255

Help Support Suicide Awareness and Prevention With Bob

Hey, folks.

The release of The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal is fast approaching (this Thursday in fact). But first, I want to talk about Suicide Awareness and Prevention and why it’s important to me.

ebook cover for The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal
Suicide in one of many forms.

One reason why I wrote this story originally was that it was an outlet to drop a lot of my dark thoughts. Personally, I struggle with PTSD, anxiety, depression, and have had plenty of suicidal thoughts…and attempts. Now, of course, I am glad that they weren’t successful and all that hubbub, but what about those who are still fighting?

There is someone we know who has lost someone they’ve loved to suicide. Whether it be family, friends, co-workers; the cycle goes on…and it’s vicious. It doesn’t relent, nor does it stop with just those who have left. While I have plenty of things I deal with and fight myself over, there are many who struggle day to day. It can be crippling. While everyone’s experience is different, we must know we are not alone.

The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal is more than just a telling of Bob’s misadventures, his quips, humor, and reoccurrences of suicide. It’s putting suicide there, right in front of us. Making death very visible. Though, in a fictional aspect, you’re seeing what becomes of a man who’s very twisted and has lost his way. It’s about finding yourself, getting the help you need.

Help is something we all need, whether it’s a small gesture or grand. My primary focus is on our veterans. So many of them come home suffering from the loss of their comrades; their family is torn apart, or disfigured from a wartorn land. That’s why I am donating to Mission 22 in support of helping our veterans get the help they need. I am also giving ALL pre-order sales of the Kindle edition of the story to Mission 22 as well. The donations will be sent out in December. For Paperback and hardcover copies sold, I will donate 22% continuing.

I invite you to join the fight against suicide and to stand together. To let others know they are not alone. Together, we can truly help one another. If you cannot purchase a copy, forward or share this. Let’s help with suicide awareness and prevention.


“Not all those who wander are lost.” — J. R. R. Tolkien

All That is Gold Does Not Glitter


*The new hardcover design will be unveiled and available as well.

To all the men and women serving (and who have served), thank you for your service.

Until next time,

RJM

 

 

P.S. If someone you know is having suicidal thoughts, talk with them. Don’t disregard their thoughts on the matter. You can also refer them to the Suicidal Prevention Lifeline1-800-273-8255

New Book Release: HOODOO MAYN NHOMA: Hoodoo Nation Journal – 13018

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New Book: HOODOO MAYN: Hoodoo Nation Festival Nhoma (Journal) 13018 Our new book is now available in soft-cover as well as the free e-book version.

New Excerpt From Lilah’s Guide to Hoyle!

What follows is the latest excerpt from the upcoming urban fantasy novel, Lilah’s Guide to Hoyle by Robert J. S. T. McCartney and Albert J. Debusschere III.


The light of the day had already been extinguished. Elsewhere, plans had begun to set into motion, the turning of the gears of archaic proportions, the ushering of the liaison of destruction. Death was busy, unusually busy for this time. The old, dilapidated warehouse of scrap metal and wood of the shipyard was quite bright for this time of the night. The moon bled above the yellowed city lights. The stars cried—icy streaks, in the abysmal sheet of darkness—in unison of the celestial act that forebode of what carried on below.

Inside the vast shell of a building, windows were boarded up. Debris and trash littered the ground all over. Assorted holes punctured the roof, letting a peak of what transpired within. A man was busy, occupied with the disposition of the latest interloper.

The swarm of the stifling cold had long already wrapped itself around his body, constricting him like an invisible serpent. He awoke and found himself bound to the wall, stretched limb and limb about a makeshift cross that was made of scraps of metal and wood. His mouth stuffed with sweaty rags, mixed with only God knew what. He was soaking wet, but he couldn’t quite make out whether it was from his blood, sweat, or from the water. Before him stood a vague shadow of a man, cockeyed, peering back with a set of raging, bright-red eyes. The eyes shifted sluggishly around the room, searching for answers from this. . .intruder. Behind the vengeful wraith, laid the twisted and mangled tall body of a man bathing in a pool of crimson.

The shade spoke deep with assurance. “There is no one else here, just us. Well, except for your partner, but I wouldn’t exactly be counting on any back up.” The silhouette shrugged, “You know how it is—collateral damage.”

His head refused to budge, causing his body to jerk with fear, his nose catching the hint of gasoline. The dark shade materialized at long last. The raging redness of its eyes settled to a cool deep blue, a face of easiness and of peace.

The now, appearing gentle man spoke, waving his hand over his hostage’s face. “Calm yourself.”

A cloud of serenity came over the prisoner. He made out the elegance of his captor that was so bewildering. A dark oak tribal mask fell to the floor with a light thud, seemingly like a drop of rain on the surface of a pond. The man had long black hair that was matted and mangy. He noted his square broad face. . .of torment and pain—of scars and wounds: past, present, and foretold of future ones—this was a traitor.

The nomadic man turned his back to the ‘crucified’ man. “I tire of your persistent meddling. No longer, will you be following anyone around, sticking your bothersome nose in matters that are far beyond what your pathetic, frail mind can comprehend.” He turned to face his victim. “Oh no.” He grinned fiercely, then burst into a gleeful sinister laugh, “NOT ANYMORE!” He closed his eyes and sniffed the air. “There are some big plans that are unfurling now, but you already know that; and there is NOTHING. . .nothing. . .you or anyone can do about it.” He grasped the man’s throat and peered deep into the frightened, green eyes. “Any last words. . .detective?” The man shook violently, trying to writhe himself free, grunting with empty pleas. The vagabond leaned toward the grunting man, whispering into his ear. “I’ll be sure to say hello to them for you, but don’t worry—they won’t be too far behind.”

The nomad plunged the blade into the man’s gut—grinning with a wink. The starving knife’s teeth clawed and pulled at the insides. The blade was jerked up in the man’s abdomen in a smooth transition, carving the hapless fool—over to the right—then at last, in a downward angle. The man coughed for a moment, choking on his own blood. He let loose a low mutter and groan, following the rush of blood that crudely mimicked a waterfall that trickled down onto the floor, along with the rest of his liveliness. As the savage nomad turned to walk away from his latest kill, a whisper from someone long ago caught his ear as he lit a match. No matter how many times you keep telling yourself you won’t. You will die. She still lives and this time—she will see to it. Oh yes, it will be all the sweeter—your death! [The match slowly fell to the ground, igniting the stew of blood, gasoline, and waste] Yes, this time, the true traitor will be the betrayed! [The flames rushed with hunger up the base of the cross, devouring the man’s feet, legs, and torso] Killing the ‘fodder’, as you say, will only fuel the fire that awaits you in Hell! The voice trailed off into a maniacal laughter, as the husk of a man on the cross was engulfed in flames.

The unnerved wanderer picked up his mask and placed it over his face, the chin and lips still exposed, and specks of blood on it. He grinned to himself and closed his eyes, and inhaled deep. The air began to rage hellishly behind him, as he still lost in the thought as he licked his lips. “Hmm, well, I can’t wait to see her . . .try.”


First Excerpt

Look for Lilah’s Guide to Hoyle, coming soon!

Note: Excerpts are not of the final rendition. Check out the final release!

Excerpt from Lilah’s Guide to Hoyle

What follows is an excerpt from the upcoming urban fantasy novel, Lilah’s Guide to Hoyle by Robert J. S. T. McCartney and Albert J. Debusschere III.


10♠ 13♠ J J

She glided into the empty class room, flipping on the lights and sighing in disappointment almost at once. Her jet-black hair brushed long down her back, same with her dress and skirt, with frills of ebony lace ensconced along the edges. Charcoal lipstick and eyeliner marked her face. In essence, the typical goth girl in class.

That she had even shown up was still a surprise to the two, and despite her obvious presence in the room, they could hardly believe it. It had taken them all month to convince her that she had a secret admirer, and that he wanted to meet her after school. Unfortunately, for the poor girl, they had been amassing silly string and water balloons in the normally abandoned classroom for over a week now. The only thing they wanted her to be greeted with was disappointment, as was befitting for a silly goth kid. However, this simple excitement was too much, and their giggling immediately gave away their position.

She clenched her eyes shut and spun around hissing “I know you’re there” at the office door. With no other means of escape, and the element of surprise now lost. The two solemnly filed out into the classroom, their eyes downcast, hoping she didn’t recognize them, preparing for a harsh tongue lashing. Her deathly gaze shifted from one to the other, as if to burn the images of their faces into her memory. After a dragged out second, she cleared her throat to address the miscreants. “You think it’s funny to toy with people’s lives?”

“Look, Lilah, it was just a joke.” the boy on the right croaked out.

“I’ll show you what it’s like to play with people’s lives!” she snapped back.

The dirty brown haired boy felt the hairs on his neck stand up. Unsure that if what he heard and was now feeling from the girl was real or just his imagination, but he definitely thought he noticed something, or sensed something amiss. A small touch of something seriously wrong hiding underneath the innocent girl persona, a vague hint of a malicious duality. Her right hand reached into the small purse that slung low on her side. Once it had found what it was looking for, it shot out causing the boys to jerk in fear simultaneously and then relief when they realized it was a deck of cards.

“Ooh, are you going to tell us our future with your fairy cards?” the dirty brown haired boy’s clearly oblivious friend now chided, his face lit up in a stupid grin.

“Yup. However, these are no fairy cards as you put it, these are the real deal.” Her hands began to dance, shuffling the cards rhythmically as if in an intricately rehearsed ballet. Once they were satisfied, her hand rested on the top card, and she rapidly drew four cards. “Let’s see, the first card, a king of diamonds.”

“Playing cards? What, are you gonna poker us to death?” he shot back at her.

Henry. . .” The dirty brown haired kid attempted to silence his loud mouthed friend before he could cause more trouble for both of them.

The girl they knew as Lilah allowed a smirk at the stray comment. “Next, we have the two of clubs, but that’s nothing special.” She showed the third card, “Next, a king of clubs, not too important.” She then revealed the fourth card, “Three of clubs, but that’s not important either. You see it’s always the last card that is key!”

“Look, Gary, she’s lost it. The goth girls finally gone loony. She’s. . .” His voice was cut short, what was happening now was beginning to make him question his own sanity.

The top card of the deck was moving, but not by her hand, all by itself rather. It slid up until it was standing upright on the deck, its back to the two boys. Slowly, it began to turn towards them. As this spectacle occurred, neither bothered to notice the girl’s blank face was turning into a sadistic grin, her eyes beginning to glow a dull green. As it hit halfway, the boys found they could no longer move, sense of touch had almost wholly left their bodies. The card was nearly completely facing them now and sparks of electricity arced from its corners. This card was wrong, in the corners was the number thirteen, and across the center was a series of spades.

“Black thirteen! Boys, this is where we part!”


 

Look for Lilah’s Guide to Hoyle, coming soon!

Note: Excerpts are not of the final rendition. Check out the final release!