Accepting What I am

(There will be a preview of my new novel, The House That Wasn’t There, at the end. If you’re just here for that, skip to the bottom.)

When we are young, we’re filled with dreams and ambitions of what we will achieve in our lives. Some of us want to climb Mt. Everest, while others want to become a famous actor. My dream since I was little was to be a published author. More specifically, I dreamed about seeing my book on the shelf of my local bookstore. Being a famous author wasn’t necessarily the dream, just being a traditionally published author would suffice.

I finished my first novel when I was twenty-five years old. It was rejected by the three literary agents I sent it to. Yes, you read that right. I sent it to a total of three literary agents. Thanks to the advancement of the internet, and the popularity of Googling information that we don’t know but want the answer to, I now know that three wasn’t enough. That’s alright, it wasn’t publishable by any stretch of the imagination.

Eventually, I learned that three wasn’t enough and sent my next manuscript to twenty-five agents. The following manuscript was sent to more than fifty. Reel Ghosts was sent to at least fifty, as well. All of those manuscripts had the same thing in common. They were rejected.

I was blindly repeating the same mistake over and over again, which I wrote about when discussing why I decided to self-publish. My focus on the dream had blinded me to reality and what the world was telling me. I wasn’t going to be a traditionally published author.

A wild backup plan became “the plan.” Back when X was Twitter, I posted about my backup plan being self-publishing my book. I was looking for insight, which I received. I also received plenty of comments regarding my usage of the term backup plan. Self-published authors weren’t happy that I used it in that manner. Years down the road, I stand by that terminology, at least for me. The fact is, if I could be a traditionally published author today, I would likely take it. Of course, it would come with a cost. My control would be limited. I would also still have to do some of the same marketing for the book that I do now. It wouldn’t be easier, just a different sort of journey.

Full disclosure. I didn’t send The House That Wasn’t There to a single literary agent, like I had planned. Seeing Reel Ghosts do little to nothing in the self-publishing world was and still is hard. Plus, The House is a better novel. I want good things for it. Yet, I have come accept what I am, a self-published author.

It’s a humbling experience for a man who has read many books and thought “Are you kidding me? My book is better than this! Why do they have an agent and a publishing deal?” If you choose to read The House That Wasn’t There, which deals with the 7 deadly sins, you’ll find out which two I committed.

Because of the experience of the last year and a half, I know what I am. I’m a good, but not great writer. There are worse, true, but there are a lot that are better. That’s fine with me; I’ll keep writing regardless. Hopefully, you’ll keep reading.

The Preview

Here’s the back of the book description:

There wasn’t supposed to be a house hidden in the woods across the street. There weren’t any visible signs of construction in the area. Being a residential construction worker, Conner knew a construction site when there was one. There wasn’t one.

It was as if the house appeared overnight.

It beckoned to him, calling out for him to enter, until he had no choice but to step inside.

It knew his sins and tormented him with them, making him relive every heartbreaking choice that shattered his life.

The worst part? There’s no way out.

Interesting, right?

Since you’re reading this blog post (thanks, by the way) how about a further look into the book?

This isn’t the first time that Conner has encountered the house, which you’ll learn more about when you read the book. Ten years ago, he was part of an investigation into the disappearance of a woman. Her husband said that in the week leading up to her disappearance, she claimed to see a house across the street in the empty lot. The problem? There wasn’t a house there.

The house is seven stories tall, with a different level where the wanderer experiences an occasion they committed that particular sin. While they are in the house, it feeds on their soul.

While in the house, Conner experiences the sins he committed while investigating the disappearances involving the house ten years ago. Sins that caused him to flee his life for a new one.

Here’s a link to the Amazon page where you can buy the book.

Thanks for reading.

If you enjoyed this post, please follow, like, and share. Remember to follow your dreams, even if they terrify you. “I can do all this through Him who gives me strength.” Philippians 4:13

Stephen Roth

Social media links:

X: @StephenRoth316

Bluesky: @stephenrothwriter.bsky.social

Instagram: @StephenRoth316

TikTok: Stephen.Roth6

To Be or Not to Be a Christian Writer

In recent posts I’ve written about my faith as a Christian (here and here). I’ve also written about my passion for writing. Outside of family, those are my greatest passions, loves, and reasons for being. It occurred to me recently that some of you might be wondering why I haven’t blended the two. In other words, why am I not a Christian writer? Well, it’s a complicated answer, and I can’t say it won’t change somewhere down the road. Here it goes.

Let’s start off with a reiteration of my faith and why it’s important to me. I believe that Jesus Christ is the son of God. That he came down from heaven, lived a perfect life, and died for the forgiveness of my sins. I, a sinner, condemned, unclean, am made clean by that sacrifice, which was accepted by baptism. That’s the Good News. That’s what I believe. I have refrained from sharing my story on this blog in the past. Now, I fear I was wrong. After all, am I not called to proclaim the Good News? That’s what this is. That’s what this is about.

Now, Let’s talk about why I write. I’m sure that I’ve written about this before, but it’s good to reiterate the point here. I write because I must. That’s the short answer. The long answer is that it’s a compulsion, an itch inside my brain that must be scratched. I write for the way it makes me feel afterward. I write because I’m a better person when I have a creative outlet in a world where I can control so little. I write for all the reasons that were in the previous blog post. I could go on and on, but I think you get the idea.

So, what is a Christian writer?

A Christian writer is a writer that chooses to write for a Christian audience. That’s usually through the confines of the Christian genre of fiction. For the purposes of this blog, we’ll only be discussing fiction, although I’ll get to nonfiction at the end.

Why don’t I write Christian fiction?

It’s a personal choice, honestly. Horror was my first love. That wouldn’t change, even if I decided to write Christian fiction. Christian horror does exist and could be an option down the road. For now, however, it simply isn’t for me. I am a big proponent of reading what you write and vice versa. I read horror, not Christian horror. The Christian writing I intake is of the nonfiction variety, mostly having to do with spiritual growth.

I write mainstream horror, but with a code of ethics that derive from my faith as a Christian. In the two blog posts linked above, I documented my struggles with maintaining that code of ethics. I try not to use profanity in my writing, though have at times in the past. In The House That Wasn’t There, my upcoming novel, I stayed true to those ethics. There is an intentional use of profanity later in the book, symbolizing the struggles that remain in my life. It’s a good book. I hope you read it when it comes out, hopefully later this year.

The choice to continue writing mainstream horror instead of changing to Christian horror, despite the calling I’ve felt recently to speak out on faith, was an intentional one. My fiction is the most likely way I can make a widespread impact on nonbelievers. “But Stephen, you don’t write Christian horror. How will you have an impact on them?” Most readers will read my novel and move on with their lives, and that’s fine. A few of them, however, might decide to visit the website in my author profile (this website). Here they will find a writer that talks about the struggles he has had in his writing career. Hopefully, that will help them with their own struggles. They will also find posts like this one, where a writer proclaims his faith, unafraid of what the world will think of him. You see, what good is proclaiming the Good News if it’s only done to those that already know? It’s those that haven’t heard, the doubters and the naysayers, that I’m trying to reach.

I hope this post clears up any confusion about the purpose of this blog going forward. There will still be writing related content, however, there will also be more posts like this. If you like this post and think I should do more like it, leave a comment below.

One last thing. Reel Ghosts is struggling with getting reviews. I am willing to send a copy of that book to two readers willing to CONSIDER leaving a review on Amazon. Simply considering leaving a review is enough. Send me an email if you’re interested (sroth2006@yahoo.com). I’ll post in the comments when this offer has closed.

I know this is my first post in a while. I’ve been working on getting some freelance writing samples done while working on a new novel. Writing about faith is something I’m considering with freelance writing. The other topics are parenting/family and digital marketing. Let me know your thoughts in the comments.

If you enjoyed this post, please follow, like, and share. Remember to follow your dreams, even if they terrify you. “I can do all this through Him who gives me strength.” Philippians 4:13

Stephen Roth

Social media links:

X: @StephenRoth316

Bluesky: @stephenrothwriter.bsky.social

Instagram: @StephenRoth316

TikTok: Stephen.Roth6

What’s Going On

It’s been a while since I’ve given you an update on what’s happening in my writing career. So that’s what we’ll do this week.

  • Reel Ghosts has been out over a year now. It’s been a learning experience, mostly in what not to do. For most of that time I didn’t promote or advertise the book. That’s what I’m doing now. If you’ve read Reel Ghosts, consider leaving a review.
  • My next novel, the House That Wasn’t There, is in the hands of a few first readers. I accidentally gathered a group with varied skills. Some are good with readability, while others are picking out some mistakes on my part.
  • A cover is next for the House. With Reel Ghosts I thought I needed to spend hundreds of dollars on a cover. Unable to afford it, I opted for an AI image for the cover. This time I’ll be hiring an artist on fiverr. A date for release isn’t set, but I’d like a few months to promote the release.
  • I started a new novel last week, tentatively titled the Devotee. It’s about a psychology student that interviews a horror writer about his influence on his fans for her thesis, and subsequently joins a cult with the writer as the leader.
  • It’s a different story than anything I’ve written for 2 reasons. First, as you may have noticed in the brief description, I said her. That’s because the main character is a woman. I’ve written short stories about women before, but this will be the first novel. Second, it’s first person POV (I/ me) instead of my usual choice, 3rd person (she/her). It felt right when developing the story. 3 chapters in and it feels like the right decision.
  • I’m working on a short story collection. The grind of finding magazines for my short stories has been something I’ve struggled with in the past. In fact, over the last few years, I’ve not tried to find magazines for most. Instead, they’ve sat collecting dust. In my spare time I’m editing the stories I’ve written and putting together a collection for an ebook. This is a recent undertaking so there’s no timetable for publication.
  • Another plan for the future has to do with my middle grade fiction. In the early years of this blog, I posted about my trials and tribulations querying literary agents regarding my middle grade novels. Now that I’ve committed to self-publishing, it’s time to get those stories out to the world. From Darkness Comes will be first, as a standalone book. Then I’ll turn my attention to the Breaking Character series. The first book is done, but needs a fresh eye. I’ve grown as a writer since then and know it’ll need work. The first draft of the second book is done and needs edited. The third book is unwritten. Is 3 books enough for a series? Should I write more? Let me know your opinion in the comments.
  • I’m planning on doing some freelance writing soon. Articles, blog posts, and whatever sounds interesting. I’d like to turn writing into a career. If you have a need for writing services, send me a message.

If you enjoyed this post, please follow, like, and share. Remember to follow your dreams, even if they terrify you. “I can do all this through Him who gives me strength.” Philippians 4:13

Stephen Roth

Social media links:

X: @StephenRoth316

Bluesky: @stephenrothwriter.bsky.social

Instagram: @StephenRoth316

TikTok: Stephen.Roth6

The Greatest Feelings of Writing

The last few blog posts have been on the heavier side, so I thought I’d lighten it up. I’ve talked a lot about the lows of writing on these pages, but we can’t forget about the good as well. Here is my personal list of the greatest feelings of writing (that I’ve experienced):

  • That first published story. I was nineteen years old when my first story was published. It was a literary piece about domestic abuse involving the parents of a teenage driver that was killed in a late-night accident. The magazine no longer exists, and the title of the magazine escapes me. It was thrilling. Seven years would pass before I would publish another story.
  • Eureka! That moment when inspiration strikes at a moment you weren’t expecting it. I often brainstorm for new story ideas when between projects. The process is simple: get a notebook, pen, and try to fill a page with ideas. That’s not what I’m referring to here, however. I’m talking about when a story idea hits you when you were least expecting it. It usually happens when my mind is preoccupied with something else. This might be my favorite moment because I’ve found these ideas are often better than the brainstorming variety.
  • The excitement of starting a new story. There are few things like starting a new story, right? It could be the best story you’ve ever written. It could be the one to break out, making you a household name. The possibilities are endless.
  • Finishing the first draft. It’s a great feeling, isn’t it? Obviously, the work is far from done, however, it’s good to celebrate achievements. Finishing the first draft definitely applies.
  • Reading the first draft & realizing it’s good. The majority of my first drafts look like most writers, which is rough. That’s because the goal of a first draft is to get the story out of your brain and onto paper as quickly as possible. You can clean up the mess later, that’s what editing is for. Seeing the potential in a story through all the flaws is a good feeling.
  • When a work-in-progress is turning out as you’d imagined it in your head. This doesn’t happen to me very often (probably because I’m a plantzer, rather than a full-fledged plotter, and the idea is fluid as I write), when it does, however, it’s rewarding. This happened with my middle-grade novel, Breaking Character.
  • Finishing the final draft. This is the finish line, and it feels good to cross it. Of course, this might not be the true final version of your novel. This would be the step in the process where you would send it to an editor, if you can afford one, that is. For those on a tight budget (like me) this is the time that I hand it over to a several trusted readers. There will likely be a few changes to make along the way, especially if you hire an editor. By the time you reach the final draft, you’re likely tired of the story. I usually celebrate this because it means I get to move onto my favorite part of the process.
  • Holding the first copy of your book in your hands. Whether you’re traditionally published or self-published, there’s nothing like holding your own book in your hands.
  • Receiving compliments about your book/writing being impactful. Most of the compliments I receive have been from people that read this blog (thanks, by the way). There’s no greater feeling than hearing what you’re doing is being noticed and appreciated.
  • Realizing your self-published book is better than the traditionally published book you’re reading. Yep. If you’re a writer, then I would wager you’ve read a book that was traditionally published that wasn’t good. I’ll refrain from naming titles, however.

If you enjoyed this post, please follow, like, and share. Remember to follow your dreams, even if they terrify you. “I can do all this through Him who gives me strength.” Philippians 4:13

Stephen Roth

Social media links:

X: @StephenRoth316

Bluesky: @stephenrothwriter.bsky.social

Instagram: @StephenRoth316

TikTok: Stephen.Roth6

Devil Whispers

My dream has always been to be a traditionally published author. When I started writing fiction as a teenager that was one of the only ways to have your fiction read. I read R.L. Stine as a kid, Christopher Pike as a teenager, and graduated to Stephen King as an adult. My heroes were all traditionally published authors. It was natural that I would take the same path as they had. At least, that was the thought, however, my path was unlike those three. I shouldn’t have been surprised, after all, we all have our own separate journeys.

That journey wasn’t a straight line, as there were twists, turns, and much backtracking along the way. First, there was the lack of success with building my portfolio of published short stories to prove to literary agents that readers wanted to read my work. There were publications, but not as many, nor as frequent as I desired.

Eventually, I felt as if I had enough credits to my portfolio to entice an agent into representing me. I was sorely mistaken. Rejection after rejection for book after book followed. I switched from writing middle grade horror to adult horror and faced the same results. The early years of this blog chronicle that journey and the struggles I had along the way.

I have written about rejection in the past (here’s the link), but it’s been a while. Years of rejection, of hearing that you’re not good enough from a group of people, can have a devastating effect on self-esteem. For years, I walked around in a perpetual haze of gloom that I wasn’t aware of. At the time, I was working a job that I didn’t like while dreaming of escaping to a world as a full-time writer. A world that wouldn’t let me past the gatekeeper. Full truth? I don’t know where I’d be today without my wife and children. In my eyes, they were the only thing I had done that was worth anything.

That’s the devil speaking, whispering into my ear that I’m not good enough. That I’m not worthy. Negative thoughts are the devil’s work. Helping me forget about the blessings I had in my life. I should have ignored those whispers. Instead, I let them fester over time, eventually becoming a plague of the soul.

Roughly two years ago, I began to ponder what it was that was holding me back from becoming the writer that I knew I was destined to be. Those whispers came again. This time hissing sweet nothings into my ear about the tactics that other horror writers used that I had refrained from in my career thus far.

You see, I’ve written more middle-grade fiction than anything else in my life. In fact, I know I’m destined to return to those campy tales of horror in the very near future. That topic is for another day, however. There aren’t many middle-grade authors that curse in their writing, and for good reason. Those books have to be parent or librarian approved.

There was also the matter of my faith as a Christian. I have always kept a clean tongue, though it was speckled with imperfections more often than I’d care to admit. Simply put, profanity and Christianity aren’t cohesive. There was a reason I had kept it out of my writing, even for a more mature audience.

According to those whispers, I was holding back and only needed to stop doing such to reach my full potential. I indulged those devil whispers while writing Reel Ghosts and continued doing so in the first draft of The House that wasn’t There. As I stated in my previous post, cleaning the profane language from the first draft of The House was my penance for the sin of giving into temptation.

Cursing in my writing went against all that I stand for, which is to be the man God has envisioned me to be. It’s not about me. It’s about Him. That’s the truth for me. Be true to yourself without abandoning your beliefs and values. I know that isn’t an answer that will sell a million copies or put me on the bestseller’s list and that’s okay. It’s about being able to look at myself in the mirror every day. It’s about trying each day to be the man my children think I already am.

If you enjoyed this post, please follow, like, and share. Remember to follow your dreams, even if they terrify you. “I can do all this through Him who gives me strength.” Philippians 4:13

Stephen Roth

Social media links:

X: @StephenRoth316

Bluesky: @stephenrothwriter.bsky.social

Instagram: @StephenRoth316

TikTok: Stephen.Roth6

Have You Read Reel Ghosts?

About an hour ago, I finished what likely was the final edit on The House That Wasn’t There. Stay tuned for more information on that in the near future, but that’s not why I’m writing this. The title says it all, doesn’t it? Have you read Reel Ghosts? If you have, please consider leaving an honest review. That could be on Amazon or Goodreads. It doesn’t matter where, just leave a review.

As an Indie author, customer ratings and reviews are valuable to help other readers make the decision to read our books. Let me know in the comments if you’ve read Reel Ghosts.

Don’t forget to like, follow, and share if you enjoyed Reel Ghosts.

Stephen Roth

Social media links:

X: @StephenRoth316

Bluesky: @stephenrothwriter.bsky.social

Instagram: @StephenRoth316

TikTok: Stephen.Roth6

A Christian & A Horror Writer

*A quick disclaimer: in this post, I’ll be discussing my faith. I have refrained from speaking at any length about my faith as a Christian in the past. That is of the past. In the future I will speak of my faith in God without apologies. If that offends you, well, too bad. There are a lot of writer blogs out there, I’m sure you can find another.

With that business out of the way, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Stephen Roth and I’m a horror writer. The world of the macabre has fascinated me since an early age. I remember watching Friday the 13th with my younger sister when I was maybe 8 or 9 and reading any Goosebumps book I could get my hands on a few years later. As a teen, I graduated to Christopher Pike, though those stories were written with a female audience in mind. It was around that time I started writing my own stories. They weren’t good, but they were mine. Those stories were cheap imitations of my heroes, something that wouldn’t be broken until I was well into my twenties.

I have spent significant time writing both middle grade horror and adult horror. My late teenage years, a year or two in my twenties, and roughly half of my thirties were spent writing middle grade horror. Most of my twenties were spent writing short stories in the adult horror genre with the hope of padding my portfolio in preparation to query literary agents. I finished my first adult horror novel at the age of twenty-five. The previous five years have been focused on adult horror. Last year, I self-published Reel Ghosts on Amazon. It’s been a humbling experience but we’re not here to talk about that.

For most of that time, I’ve been a Christian. I met my wife when I was nineteen when we both worked at a movie theater. We started dating clandestine, due to the fact that I was an assistant manager and she wasn’t. There was a lot of drama back then, especially for a self-proclaimed “boring guy.” Most of it involved how my wife was treated by fellow co-workers when we started dating. Eventually, I left the theater, solving a problem for my general manager, who had grown suspicious.

I’d like to say that when I became a Christian it encompassed every aspect of my being, however, that wasn’t the case. Like a lot of Christians, I had two separate selves, one for Sunday and another, completely separate one for the rest of the week. Compartmentalization was my problem. I know I’m not the first Christian to have this problem and I won’t be the last.

This problem can be seen in my novel, Reel Ghosts. I’m proud of that novel, though it highlights the compartmentalization that I was suffering from at the time. Years of rejection had turned me bitter and desperate to the point that I let my dreams overshadow God’s will for me. I’m planning on going into further detail on this issue in my next post but allow me to give you the cliff notes.

I had always felt as if I had been holding back when it came to my adult horror fiction. In all my years of writing for adults, I had refrained from using profanity in my work. I did that despite letting occasional profane language slip from my tongue. Rather than clean-up my language to better emulate the image my Creator had for me, I instead molded my writing for my own personal gain. Unsurprisingly, at least as I look back now, Reel Ghosts, didn’t sell to agents, and instead was self-published.

I wish I could say that my error was realized immediately. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. In fact, in the first draft of my work in progress, The House That Wasn’t There, I approached the story in the same manner, using the same profane language, in other words. Apparently, I hadn’t learned my lesson.

So, what changed? What happened that made me realize that I had made a catastrophic mistake? Honestly, I don’t know. Over the past six months, I’ve been trying to become a better man, a better Christian man. Rather than listening to podcasts at work, I started listening to audiobooks about spiritual growth. It had been years since I opened the bible on a daily basis. That is something I recently changed. I also started listening to Christian music, something I had always thought was for those “crazy-spiritual Christians.”

I’m not a perfect man, nor am I a perfect Christian. I’m simply trying to be the man that God wants me to be. I might be a little slow to listen, but I’m getting there. With His help, I know I can.

A Christian and a horror writer can coexist in the same person. Putting Him first is the key. It took me a long time to realize that. The editing sessions on The House That Wasn’t There have been good for my soul. Each deletion of profane language is like a cleansing. It’s not easy, but it’s my penance for listening to those devil whispers.

As I said in the disclaimer above, I have refrained from speaking about my faith on this page. That was part of putting myself before God. That changes now. I will speak of my faith unapologetically from hence forth, hopefully, you’ll still read.

Thanks for reading. Remember to follow your dreams, even if they terrify you. You know what? That won’t do anymore. “I can do all this through him who gives me strength.” Philippians 4:13

Stephen Roth

Christian & Writer

Why I Self-Published & Why You Should Consider It

Hello! Welcome back to the blog. It’s been a while since I last posted, so I should probably give you an update. Reel Ghosts is available for purchase on Amazon (there’s a link in the Books tab on the menu). It’s part of the Kindle Unlimited program. If you’ve read it, an honest review would be greatly appreciated. I’m currently reading the first draft of my next novel, The House That Wasn’t There. The possibilities are exciting. Enough about what I’m doing. Let’s talk about why I decided to go with self-publishing.

If my calculations are correct (something might have slipped through the cracks of time) then I have written 7 novels in my lifetime. The House That Wasn’t There will be number 8. Of Those 7 finished novels, 5 have been in the middle grade horror genre, while 2 have been adult horror. That’s a lot of writing, where much was learned about myself as a writer and the writing process. The first novel I wrote (a middle grade horror novel) wasn’t seen by anyone’s eyes but mine. That’s fine, as it wasn’t a good book. The second book (an adult horror novel) was better, yet wasn’t publishable. The handful of agents I queried agreed. For a span in my late twenties and early thirties, I focused on middle grade horror, finishing 4 novels. It was during that time I realized submitting to only a handful of agents wouldn’t get the job done (thanks internet). Querying more agents came with a drawback. If you have queried agents before, then you know what I’m referencing. Rejection. I received a lot of rejection letters and emails during that span. I wrote what I still think was the best middle grade novel I’m capable of writing. It was rejected. The early posts on this blog chronicled my journey as I switched from a middle grade horror writer to solely focusing on adult horror. Reel Ghosts was the product of that change in focus, a novel that attempted to blur the line between psychological and paranormal horror. I was and still am proud of that novel. Seeing it rejected was hard.

By the time I realized Reel Ghosts wasn’t going to be traditionally published, I had become jaded towards the mainstream publishing world. I had read books by authors whom I felt weren’t as talented as I, nor were their books as good. Jaded and more than slightly bitter, I know.

There was another problem. I felt as if I was stuck in an endless loop that kept repeating. Write. Submit. Reject. Write. Submit. Reject. The loop was a byproduct of my own self-confidence, caused by a single-minded focus that failed to see other avenues as valid. The loop needed to be broken. The choice was obvious, though difficult.

Self-publishing.

Self-publishing has its pros and cons. Pros: control, more accepted than in the past, access to a wide variety of readers are just a few. Cons: self-promoting can be an issue, standing out in the crowd, requires discipline.

It’s a hard road if chosen. I’m still learning lessons. Hopefully, in the future I’ll be able to write a post about how to be successful as a self-published author. Right now, I’m still walking that road.

Now, should you choose to self-publish your novel?

Do you want to take control of your writing and publishing future?

Are you good at self-promotion?

Can you properly manage your time between writing, revisions, and promoting?

There are a lot of self-published books out there. Can you stand out from the crowd?

Output is important in the self-publishing world. The more books you have out in the world, the more likely you are for a reader to find you. Therefore, can you write quickly enough to take advantage?

Ultimately, the decision is yours. I’m glad to have broken the loop and delved into a new adventure. Where that adventure takes me remains to be seen. Thanks for reading, and remember to follow your dreams, even if they terrify you.

Stephen Roth

An Exciting Adventure

After a long journey of querying, I’ve made the decision to quit. Don’t worry, I’m not quitting writing. Instead, I’ve decided to quit waiting for the gatekeepers of the literary world (literary agents) for their approval. I’ve decided to quit allowing my self-worth to be dictated by someone else. I’m jumping the fence, so to speak. I’m doing this by self-publishing my book through Kindle Direct Publishing.

I’ll expand on this decision in the future. In the meantime, here’s the link.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DCDPYZWK/ref=mp_s_a_1_1?crid=2GU3QJ3H2MOOW&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.cTJxIdYWFGGO0v-B5W1Vktokm8kUY37qEcz7ZnDAAmup21eV8rs9T57FKLG7BcdetAmg1l6ZkfC6GoS9X3nb4_VMmsFWwS0kNZQima9SBeXPma1bWC9ycsMZ0iKt0vrFVtiiE-6W0sXwBXRjdZS98Ry0Ezl0lgxFq126YjTeno3nBUcPjuH_o73RTQ2RLpQoAOfSS6X0aXTMJ2pSqYPkYA.eJn9eV7jY505uliQQ82ut37j_BczVXMeBy-L01g-qvw&dib_tag=se&keywords=reel+ghosts&qid=1723071793&sprefix=real+ghosts%2Caps%2C211&sr=8-1

The Assemblyman

In recent weeks, I’ve been working on something that has excited for the future and thankful to finally being moving forward with this journey. Stay tuned for more information in the coming weeks. In the meantime, allow me to tell you a tale that was inspired by the novel, 1984. This is the Assemblyman.

Enjoy.

In a large factory, an assembly line stretched as far as the eye could see. The products assembled on the line varied dramatically depending on the day. Yesterday, the three thousand assemblymen assembled bicycles one piece at a time. Last week, it had been a curious device with a trigger and a long shaft that none of the assemblymen would have recognized as a rifle. Today, it was a simple three-foot by three-foot box, assembled like a jigsaw puzzle one piece at a time. Assemblyman 274 didn’t recognize it for the busy work that it was. Keeping the body occupied was an important factor in maintaining order, not that 274 thought much about it. In fact, his mind was utterly blank as he applied a thick layer of glue to the unfinished box in front of him. The box moved along the line, where Assemblyman 275 inserted the wooden jigsaw piece into place, covering his gloved hands in sticky glue in the process.

The hum of the conveyor moving the assembly line steadily along was the only sound in the factory. That was until the sound of wooden jigsaw pieces clattering to the concrete floor echoed throughout the large space.

274 snuck a glance down the line to his right, doing so without moving his head.

A dozen workers down the line, a tall assemblyman crouched awkwardly to pick up the pieces off the ground. His hands moved quickly, piling the pieces on the table of his workstation. The area was littered with wooden jigsaw pieces. 274 looked away as guard 87 walked briskly in the direction of the assemblyman with his hand grasping the handle of the rectification rod attached to his belt.

274 stared straight ahead as he applied glue to the next unfinished box. The sound of solid wood meeting bare flesh caused him to cringe involuntarily. The screams of the tall assemblyman echoed throughout the large, empty space.

Waves crashed on the shoreline of a sun-soaked beach in an undisclosed location. Knox had set his woven beach chair close enough to the water so his toes would be tickled by each incoming wave. He closed his eyes, taking in the crispness of the water on his parched skin. A few seconds of bliss later, and it was over. Another would soon replace it if he was patient enough.

A seagull squawked repeatedly somewhere overhead. His moment of tranquility interrupted; Knox opened his eyes. The flying rodent in question was circling overhead making an obscene racket. A larger seagull, obviously as annoyed as Knox was, flew by and delivered a peck to the noisy bird. The squawking ceased.

A buzzer sounded in the factory from a speaker mounted to the wall, signifying the end of the working day. The final wooden box had reached the end of the assembly line seconds before the buzzer went off. This happened daily, regardless of the time, though without a clock in the factory 274 had no way of noticing the discrepancy. Simply, the workday wasn’t finished until the work was finished.

274 stood in unison with his fellow assemblymen. They exited the factory, walking in a single file line. Sky blue painted the walls of the hallways as they walked, as if they were walking through a sunlit park surrounded by trees, rather than in a building surrounded by concrete. Being outside would have been quite upsetting for 274, as he hadn’t felt the warmth of the sun upon his skin since he came of age. Those memories were supposed to be suppressed, though he had cordoned off select memories. He could only draw upon those memories during the hours when They thought he was asleep. Try as he might, he couldn’t bring anything forth any other time.

The line slowed as they entered the cafeteria. The concrete walls were painted white. Concrete flooring had given way to white tiled flooring, with a large red arrow indicating the direction the line was to move, despite not needing the help. Large tables with bench seats lined the room. Each person procured a tray, which they put a bowl, spoon, cup, and napkin on.

274 watched as a spoonful of beige mush was dropped into his bowl by a slack-faced woman wearing a hairnet on her auburn hair. A similarly slack-faced man pressed the nozzle on a dispenser, filling his cup with a cloudy liquid that was supposed to be water.

Meal in hand, he followed the line until they arrived at the empty table near the end of the row. He waited for the table to fill, then they sat in unison. Spoonful by spoonful they ate the mush with slack faces, staring into their bowls all the while.

The sun was setting as Knox got out of the beach chair. He knew he should move the chair away from the water, lest the coming tide wash it away. Of course, that had never happened, so he walked away, leaving the chair where it lay.

It was a short walk to the cantina where he dined every day. He followed the wood slats on the boardwalk that conveniently led from his beach spot to the cantina. While he walked, he gazed at the remaining blue in the sunsetting sky.

The cantina was a small building, if it could even be called a building at all. It had a deck constructed of heavily weathered wood that somehow managed not to splinter his bare feet. There was a canopy overhead, made of bamboo and palm tree leaves. It was open air, so Knox could enjoy the sunset while he dined. A bar constructed of bamboo ran the length of the cantina. There were a dozen tables, though he never saw anyone else sitting at them.

He was greeted with a smile by an olive-skinned bartender. She was as mysterious as she was beautiful. The rays of the setting sun seemed to find their way into the cantina to shine off her black hair. Her crimson lips reminded him of an apple, both begging for a touch from his lips.

Sitting on the bar in front of her was a plate of freshly caught fish, rice, and grilled vegetables. It was the only way he would eat mushrooms. The beautiful bartender—whom he still didn’t know the name of, even after all these years—seemed to know that without him having spoken so aloud.

He returned her smile, grabbed his plate, and took his seat at his usual table. He watched the sunset in silence.

After dinner, 274 stood, again in unison with his fellow assemblymen. As they exited the cafeteria, each deposited their tray and utensils into the appropriate slot in the wall, where each would be washed and readied for tomorrow’s breakfast service.

In the hallway, the walls had changed from sky blue to black. The lighting had also dimmed, signifying the coming of night.

He shuffled along, following assemblyman 273 until he came to a door marked 274. Each of them stopped at the door with their number written in black lettering. A buzzer sounded when everyone was in place. In unison, they opened their doors and entered their sleeping quarters.

Inside, all the rooms were the same, industrial and void of personality. The walls were unpainted concrete, the floor was the same. A bed with a green wool blanket and insufficient pillow was mounted on one wall. There was a toilet and sink in the corner.

274 took off his gray coveralls and hung it on one of the two hooks by the door. There was a matching set of coveralls on the other hook, ready for him to wear tomorrow. When he arrived after work tomorrow, there would be a replacement, as there was every day.

The lights went out as he climbed into bed. 274 lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting.

It was a short walk from the cantina to the small bungalow where Knox slept each night. He enjoyed the sound of the tide washing along the shore as he walked. It was a fine evening for a walk.

The bungalow had simplicity in mind, as he didn’t require much. A place to rest his head, simple as that. There weren’t walls, as he had never been bothered by anyone during his stay in this tropical paradise. A hammock hung from the rafters of the roof. He climbed in the hammock and was quickly asleep.

Images of his childhood flooded 274’s thoughts. They came out of nowhere, as they did every night. One second his mind would be curiously blank, only to be replaced by thoughts or memories from his childhood. He had tried to draw upon more recent memories but had failed. Everything from after he joined The System seemed to be off limits.

In the memory, it was 274’s birthday. His twelfth birthday, to be exact. It was an important milestone for those living both in and out of The System. His family was of the latter group, though it didn’t matter. In The System or out, they would find you when you became of age. His parents were also of age, obviously, though had been deemed unworthy—or was it untrustworthy?—of a transition to a life within The System.

He knew they would come for him on this day, like they had for his brother two years prior, also on his brother’s twelfth birthday. He hadn’t seen his brother since. Yet, he willed it not to happen. Other children whispered about an omnipotent deity in the sky watching over them. They did so with an eye on the instructors in the reformatory, knowing if they were heard the punishment would be severe. 274—his parents had given him a name back then, though he couldn’t remember it now—hadn’t a notion if such a being existed, but on his twelfth birthday, he did something he hadn’t done before. He prayed to this deity, asking to be saved.

Later that same day, he could curse the deity with tears in his eyes as he was ripped from his mother’s arms.

The memory was replaced by an image of a sandy beach. It was a curiosity for one reason. 274 had never been to the beach, therefore, it wasn’t a memory. Then what was it?

He fell asleep still pondering the answers.

Knox awoke the next morning feeling as he did every morning, surprised by his surroundings. It was as if his mind went somewhere else while he was asleep, only to awaken back in his body. By the time his feet hit the wood planks of the cabana, his bearings were back. The view of the sun rising over the open ocean didn’t hurt either. Instantly, he knew it would be a good day.

He walked to the beach wondering what he had done to deserve this paradise.

If 274 had a functioning mind, he would have wondered what he had done to deserve the hell he found himself in. Each day was a mirror image of the previous day. The only thing that changed were the voices of his fellow assemblymen screaming in agony as they were beaten. It was a mindless existence, while his mind had been with him the previous evening, 274 had the brainwave that was exactly what The System had in order.

Breakfast was the same beige mush he had eaten the previous evening for dinner. Luckily, he didn’t have the consciousness to wonder whether it was freshly made or had sat out all evening, only to be reheated come morning, or what in the hell the mush was made from.

Instead, he ate while staring into his bowl. His mind was void of thought.

Knox ate a refreshing omelet with cheese and peppers for breakfast in the cantina. When finished, he walked to his usual place on the beach. His beach chair was untouched by the tide. He sat, wondering what he should do today, then did nothing.

As he sat on the beach, doing nothing, something happened that hadn’t happened before. Yet for some reason it happened on that day.

Knox fell asleep.

Assemblymen 274 looked around the room with utter clarity for the first time in…well, he wasn’t sure how long. Probably since that fateful day twenty years ago when he was taken from his mother’s arms. Wait, he wasn’t supposed to be able to remember that now. That memory was locked away, sealed behind an impenetrable door. Yet, remember it he had. If he could remember, that meant he could think, truly think for himself.

An unfinished wooden box passed along the conveyor belt in front of him, waiting for the glue so 275 could insert the jigsaw piece into place. It passed without an application of glue from his brush. This had occurred for two reasons. First, 274 had been stricken motionless by his sudden ability to think for himself. Second, he recognized the wooden box for what it was, a useless piece of wood that was only meant to keep the assemblymen busy between important jobs. Idle hands are the devil’s playground, as his mother had been fond of saying when he was a child.

Another box passed in front of him. Again, he didn’t apply the necessary coat of glue. Assemblymen 275 glanced in his direction before putting the piece into place without glue. 274 knew it didn’t matter. The System likely had a disassembly crew that would break the boxes apart, leaving the jigsaw pieces ready for another use. 274 knew this just as he knew the name his mother had blessed him with at birth.

Something struck the back of his head. Blackness engulfed assemblymen 274.

The bright florescent lights of the factory hurt his eyes as he stared at the ceiling from the ground. There was a throbbing in his head, the back of which was sticky with his own blood. Despite the pain, there was a clarity that had never been there previously. Something had happened while he had been unconscious, a merging of two entities, once thought to be separate from each other and oblivious of each other. Now those entities were one, never to be separated again.

“Assemblyman 274, stand up!” guard 87 ordered in a commanding voice that had never been defied.

He stood slowly, as the pain in his head caused the ground to sway on its axis.

“Assemblyman 274, you may resume your work. Take your seat.”

Blood dripped from the thick end of the rectification rod still held tightly in the guard’s hand.

“No.”

Guard 87 struck with both speed and ferocity, hitting him in the stomach. The blow brought him to his knees. After a couple deep breaths, he stood again.

“Assemblyman 274, retake your—”

“My name is Knox,” Knox said, sealing his fate.

Thanks for reading. Until next time, remember to follow your dreams, even if they terrify you.

Stephen M. Roth