Kristoffer Gair has a new MM paranormal thriller out in his Falling Awake series:
Andrew O’Donnell’s childhood friend, Thomas, was murdered when they were ten years old. Nightmares and guilt have plagued Andrew ever since. And he believes himself responsible for delivering Thomas into the very hands of the men who committed the atrocity.
Now, fourteen years later, Andrew is driven to uncover the mystery of what really happened to Thomas, the reason behind the brutal abduction, and whether the assailants—who were never caught—have set their sights on someone else.
Even the help of an unlikely ally may not be enough to stop the darkness, the threat of what it will do to them in this life…or the next.
Falling Awake Book Two
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Guest Post
Welcome to 1972
Are you familiar with people who watch a television show, movie, or read a book and can point out mistakes? I’m one of those people…and don’t get me started on Star Trek: Into Darkness. Also, I can’t recall what the error was, but I found a glaring one while watching Stranger Things and it had to do with the year the show is set versus the year of a reference to something. Little things are fine, but big ones? Ugh. And it’s finding these errors that makes me shy away from writing stories taking place any other time than the present. Why? I HATE research.
Writing Falling Awake was easy in terms of research because much of the story takes place somewhere none of us remember; the afterlife. I did have to do some research regarding Vietnam in terms of the country’s history, food, and culture, which was fun. Another small section takes place in the US during the late 1950s. The final chapter of the novella takes place in modern times, so nothing too strenuous in terms of research…just the way I like it.
Enter Falling Awake II: Revenant and welcome to 1972. Now, I was around in 1972, but I don’t have a wealth of knowledge about the time period since I was 2 years old. Setting a story back then meant a number of hours spent looking up vehicles, fashion, music, sayings, weather, movies, books, older city maps, and job descriptions. This isn’t exactly how I like to spend my time, though they all add to the finished piece. I tend to be detail oriented and I have friends who are fellow authors who HATE it when someone gets the little details wrong.
A problem I had, which I’ll admit to you and no one else, is during the thirteen months I spent writing the book, chapter one started off in 1972 and somewhere along the line changed to 1974. I have no idea when or how this happened, yet it did. Obviously, many of the references had to be checked and altered. This was especially painful when I made an Abba joke—one of the few light moments in the entire book—and had to find an alternative since Abba didn’t have an album out until 1974. Grrr… The reference was a really, really good joke too.
I also made a mistake with making a JAWS reference—the book, not the movie—and Peter Benchley’s novel was released in 1974. Back to the drawing board there too.
A couple folks have suggested leaving the references as I wrote them, only I feel the mistakes take away from the story. Leaving them in feels lazy on my part. Sure, the story is fiction and requires a major suspension of disbelief, only the more real I can keep things, the better.
The beauty of setting a story in 1972 has been the lack of cell phones, pagers, texting, surveillance cameras, and other technology. Honestly, I’m amazed at some of the crimes people still get away with today because of technology, but back then? There was a bit more room to maneuver, which is exactly what the characters need. Why do they need it?
I’m afraid you’re going to have to read the book to find out. Heck, if I hadn’t written it, I’d be wanting to read it right about now! Huh…I just convinced myself. Now if only I can find another 999,999 just like me.
Excerpt
Christopher played with the loose change in the pocket of his jean shorts with one hand while he used the other to open the door to the local record store. He’d be lucky to still be able to afford an album every now and then with the rate book prices continued to climb. $1.25 for a paperback novel? Michael Crichton certainly lived a life of luxury. And with record albums going between $4 and $5 a pop, talk about a pretty big hit to a college student’s wallet, even with generous parents.
Still, what wasn’t intoxicating about the smell of a new record, like a new car smell? They only lasted so long, though, before temptation reared its ugly head to buy another. And as for the records themselves… Well, the albums including foldouts, or at least pictures and lyrics on the inside sleeve instead of the standard boring white ones, remained the prized purchases. Folks at the record companies really put some effort into those.
He glanced at the racks of new releases near the front of the store—Frank Zappa, The Dooby Brothers, and Golden Earing seemed to be selling well—then headed into the middle aisle, past jazz on the left and soundtracks—still a few copies of Jesus Christ Superstar in inventory—on the right, and deep into the popular section past the midway. The store was fairly empty, another reason he wanted to head there on a Monday evening. Fewer people meant he could look at the albums he wanted to without fear of stares. Even the employees left him alone unless he asked them a question, probably because they knew he wasn’t a long-term local.
Olivia Newton-John…Paul McCartney & Wings…Bob Dylan…Neil Diamond, Song Sung Blue played over the store’s speaker system…Chicago… Christopher reversed direction and made his way back to the “E” bin, flipped through several albums, many he recognized and some he didn’t, until finally laying hands on one of his artists of choice.
“Elton John, huh?”
“What?”
The voice startled him, and Christopher breathed a huge sigh of relief he’d said a word instead of letting out a light scream. Little yelps tended to escape him when surprised, something his family teased him about unmercifully. He looked up. A very cute, very tall, slightly older, redheaded boy with intense, yet sad, brown eyes stared back at him from the next aisle. Where the hell did this guy come from? Had Christopher been so enraptured in looking at the album cover he missed someone else the next aisle over?
Author Bio
Author/Blogger Kristoffer Gair grew up in Fraser, MI and is a graduate of Grand Valley State University. He currently lives with his husband in a suburb of Detroit.
Official Website: www.KageAlan.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/kristoffergair
Twitter: https://www.twitter.com/kristoffer.gair
