K.I.A. by Alexander Charalambides

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Hi! Uh…
Well, I think I’ll start with something you probably could guess about me: (it won’t count for the purposes of our thought experiment) I’m very methodical.
Because of that, we’re taking our likely word count, let’s say 500, and see if we can cover five unguessable things in 100 words each.

THING ONE: Did you notice it already? for “500” and “100” I use numerals, but for a small number, like five, I use letters. As a writer, I try to have my writing go by as quickly as possible, and it’s my view that stopping to think about the language instead of the story is the wrong approach to writing. That’s not to say I don’t like evocative language, but when it stands out too much it can actually pull the reader out of the story.
This is where you can probably guess I have strong opinions about writing, but since it’s obvious, it won’t be one of the items on our list.

THING TWO: I’m a terrible procrastinator. Okay, maybe you could’ve guessed this, since anyone who knows an author probably knows this about them, but maybe you don’t. It’s not that I’m lazy, I promise, I just really can’t abide the idea of not doing justice to an idea, I’m sure any creative person can relate. Unfortunately, the irony of self expression is that ideas can only be perfect in your head. In order to be real, they have to be flawed. If I think about it a bit, the potential to be flawed is what makes the medium of the novel so interesting, since a lot of those flaws can stem from how the reader reads what the author wrote.

THING THREE: I have no idea what I’m doing. Again, maybe not exactly “unguessable”. I’m not really sure why I bring this up, but maybe it’s the learning experience in writing. Every project, I learn something new, and since every time it’s something that in hindsight seems obvious, like “make sure people can tell what’s going on” or “try not to make the plot go by too quickly”, I think I must be pretty low on the ladder of great writing insights. I think that’s the key, to always learn something important every time you do something. I know people say to learn from your failures, but if possible I try to learn from success as well.

THING FOUR (the penultimate thing): I’m really not sure what I want to write about. People keep asking me about “genre” and all I can say is I picked one I thought would fit. The truth is, I really have no idea what I want to focus on thematically, so I just shoot from idea to idea. I think it comes across in my writing, but at the same time why does it seem like everyone expects an author to commit to a single series and genre? Maybe I want to write a self-contained story? Until I’ve figured out something to commit my full attention to it’s going to bother me.

THING FIVE (the Final Thing): I enjoy book tours. No, really, I’m serious. I haven’t been counting, but it’s been a long, long time that I’ve been writing and showing to a really limited crowd of people. Now, all of a sudden, it seems like a few people care what I have to say. Crazy, right? I think a lot of people feel the same, they might not realize it, but they’re waiting to prove that their writing is good enough for people to notice.
I guess what’s really unguessable about me is how grateful I am for the possibility that people might read this, or anything I’ve written. So, if you got this far, thank you.

Oops, I’m actually a little over 500. Oh well.

Hildegard lives in a real-life dollhouse, surrounded by prop houses and actors who play friends, teachers and foster parents. Only one man ever seemed real, and after his disappearance, she’s had enough playing along. As Hildegard makes her final preparations to run away from home, a swarm of black clad soldiers appear, controlling the police and swarming across her home town. She can evade them for now, but after learning their mission, she decides to play along one last time, following them to Truman Academy, a lonely building on a freezing aleutian island. Hildegard knows it for what it is: just another prop, but not everyone feels the same way. Through the hell of endless drills and marching, Hildegard befriends the stealthy Grace and bloodthirsty David, and enlists them in an effort to unravel the plan of the man called G and his monstrous menagerie of inhuman soldiers.

Read an excerpt:

“Doctor!” A student rushes in, holding a smoking walkie-talkie, and supporting a friend, limping on a bleeding leg. Islet jumps to his feet again, setting the injured student on the ground, elevating the leg, and shining a small flashlight across it.

“What happened?” I ask them.

“It’s G,” he says, never taking his eyes from Islet’s treatment. “We overheard the baggers, they formed up around him, somewhere near their comm room, and called in a chopper.” I scan the ground and snatch up a weapon.

“That’s where they had all the phones, right?” Grace says. “The one outgoing line.”

“Trashed.” The student groans. “By the time we got in it was just broken glass and charcoal.”

“If G escapes, we’re all as good as dead,” I tell the room. “And he has a lot to answer for.” They all look up. “So who’s coming with me to bring him in?” Some stand. Others raise their hands. “Grace.” I tap her on the shoulder. “Take two minutes to organize them, make sure they’re all healthy and armed.”

“Got it,” she nods. “He’s going to get what’s coming to him.”

“Islet.” I drag him aside. “We need to talk.”

“Uh, okay,” he nods. “What is it?” I listen to the murmur of voices and the clatter of equipment.

“I saw the medical staff.” He nods, making a show of listening. “Radiation suits.” His eyes roll down to his feet.

“You saw the bomb?” he asks.

“I saw enough to guess,” I say. “We all did.”

“I didn’t want to,” he gasps. “We were forced, we installed it at gunpoint, I hate-”

“I don’t care how you feel about it,” I say and shove him against the wall, “I need to know how big it is, what kind of detonator it has, and if it can be disarmed.”

“Well,” he gulps, “it’s tactical grade, I remember they said that, just enough to-”

“Get rid of the evidence,” I say.

“That was the idea.” He nods. “Even if we take the academy, they might-”

“They won’t,” I tell him. “G wouldn’t trust anyone else with the detonator, so we won’t give him the chance to get far enough away. Don’t get the wrong idea, Islet, I need to know if it can be moved.”

“Moved?” He flinches again. “You want to use it?”

About the Author:

Alexander Charalambides was born in London and grew up in Berkshire in the UK.

He studied Creative Writing, and graduated from the Open University.

As a freelance writer Alexander enjoys storytelling just as much as editing and analysis, but often takes time off to enjoy wind surfing, do the sickest of motorcycle flips, wrestle with deadly animals and lie about his hobbies.

In 2008 he moved to the USA and now lives in New Hampshire’s beautiful White Mountains with his family and two dogs, Gwynne and Gimli.

Website: http://www.AlexanderCharalambides.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/ajcharalambides
Twitter: http://twitter.com/ajcharalambides
Buy Link: https://www.amazon.com/K-I-Alexander-Charalambides-ebook/dp/B075F9J9DC

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