Month: January 2014


Being a night person, 8 o’clock in the morning was much too early for me to rise, new blog posting or not. My head felt like a Santa hangover on New Year’s Day, and my movements, at best, were a poor imitation of sleepwalking.

I bumped around in the bathroom like a zombie in training, then awkwardly threw on a shirt and slipped into a pair of slacks, loosing my balance several times in doing so. Then I moseyed uneasily through the private doorway into my home office, feeling like some squalid animal walking on its hind legs. None too steadily, I plopped myself down into the swivel chair at my desk and stared at the small clock perched on its rear corner. The clock was a blur, and its hands seemed to gaily dance and multiply.

Suddenly I wasn’t alone. My personal secretary, Ginger — a  petite brunet, no more than 5 foot 2, short hair, mid 50s, efficient and diligent, dressed smartly in a dark pants suit, had just entered the room through its main entrance, closing the door behind her.

“I see you’re up and about, ready to go,” she chirped. Her clear and dutiful voice had a ring of cheer.

“That’s debatable,” I challenged quietly, blinking my eyes, not facing her, still staring at the clock and asking myself, “How do the hands do that?” Then, oddly, came a striking thought. “A premonition?”

“You want breakfast?” Ginger asked, snapping me out of my strange reverie.

 I slowly swiveled around, facing her, my eyes still blinking in disorientation.”What?”

“Breakfast?” she nodded.

“Uh, no…not now,” I blinked. “But I desperately do need some coffee!” Amazingly, I managed to press one of the many colored buttons on my console, the special one signaling for coffee. Then struggling to appear more cognizant, I asked Ginger, “How’s the Inbox?”

Ginger sighed. “The usual smorgasbord, but nothing earthshaking.”

“Well, just delete the obvious garbage. I’ll try and take a look at the remainder later.”

“Oh, a Mr. George Knox phoned. He wants you to call him back as soon as possible.”

Frowning, my blinking ceased. “Damn…as though I need that! Look, not to be unkind, “I sighed, “but if he calls again, for God’s sake, don’t put him through. I hate to have you do this, but tell him I’m out of town…in Europe somewhere.”

“I gather you won’t be calling him back.”

“If you knew George, you wouldn’t call him back either. That guy’s impossible! He can talk nonstop…on and on and on. Continual triviality…anything that pops into his head…constantly changing the subject without ever taking a breath in between. I have too much to do today — especially putting together a blog posting, without it being disrupted and delayed by his infernal yakking. My followers expect a timely posting…deserve it.” I sighed again, the talking seemingly bringing my thoughts into focus.

“As far as that goes,” I continued, “don’t put any calls through to me today — unless it’s my film Producer!”

We were interrupted by a knock at the door. “Come in” I acknowledged.

The door opened. Standing there, looking quite dignified in his butler garb, was Bollero. “Your coffee, sir,” he stated with stoical aplomb. In the presence of others, Bollero always addressed me as “sir.” But when we were alone together, he relaxed and addressed me by my first name. Our casual pact.

As Bollero brought me my coffee in a huge cup on a silver tray, Ginger nodded and left the room. Once Bollero left, I began sipping my coffee and gazed back at the clock on my desk. It’s hands had finally steadied. A good sign. Then, taking a deep breath, I got down to writing the first rough draft of my next blog posting on a legal sized pad of yellow paper. Not long into this, my console buzzed, a signal from Ginger. I pressed a console button putting Ginger on the speaker. “Yes?”

“Alexandria Altman, your movie Producer, is holding on line 2,” Ginger singsonged,  a certain reedy timbre to her voice.

I pressed another console button and put Alexandria on the speaker as my coffee sipping advanced to lighting a cigarette. “Alex, delighted to hear from you. What’s happening?”

“Things are moving, Griff. Your movie’s pre-production is about finished, then we’ll be ready for full film development. We should have you here soon.” Her voice was energetic and ebullient, that Hollywood “marvelous” sound.

“About time things were moving.”

 “Moving so well as to leave me in awe and speechless!”

“I can’t imagine you ever speechless.”

She laughed, an invigorating laugh. “I’m not speechless about  you! Being the human being you are…the finest, kindest man I know, that alone sells me. But in addition, I have your book…one of a kind…and your wonderful, perfect script, all allowing me to lift your movie up.”

For a moment I was breathless, an exciting numbness.

“Must run, Griff,” Alex continued. “Get on with this.But I just had to tell you. I’ll be back with you soon. When this gets out, you’ll be bombarded. An onslaught!”

“Onslaught! What kind of onslaught?” I was suddenly fully awake.

“People are going to be after you. Among other things, just for starters, you’re going to see a mass of them come to you and ask you where they can get a copy of your book and ask for a part in your movie. And that’s only the beginning.”

For some reason, George Knox came to mind.

Ten minutes after Alex was off the phone, Ginger unexpectedly rushed back into the office. “Gerald,” she exclaimed excitedly, “you’ve got to see this! An email from one of the writers, Cynthia Westland, in that Crime Fiction group.

Still grappling with what Alex had just told me, while at the same time finding it futile to focus back on my blog’s rough draft, I pivoted around in my chair and shot Ginger a quizzical look. “What’s so pressing about it?”

“Her review of Of Good And Evil. Just posted on Amazon. Take a look.”

I pivoted back around in my chair, booted up my wireless PC, clicked Internet, then clicked Cynthia’s email on the Inbox page, and intently read her review:

“Gerald G. Griffin has mastered the art of intelligent and suspenseful writing in this book. With each page, the reader is informed, challenged captivated and finally obsessed with this story of love, honor, evil and political tumult.

“Exquisitely crafted, Griffin weaves a gripping tale of Captain Ron Sheffield’s quest for redemption and purpose, while battling his personal demons. The love story of the beautiful and mysterious Amber Ash and Captain Sheffield is poignant, sensual, strong, and is an integral part of the novel, making the book equally appealing to both men and women.

“The fast pace and suspense of the novel kept me engaged from beginning to end. One of the best reads of the year, Of Good And Evil has all the elements of a best seller, and more. A true masterpiece!”

“Wow!” I enthused, my eyes dancing and multiplying as the clock hands had done earlier. “Succinct but powerful…and to the point!”

“That should keep the ‘Buy the Latest Book!’ box at the top of  your blog page busy,” Ginger smiled cheerfully.

“Yes,” I agreed quietly. “Let the onslaught begin.”

OF GOOD AND EVIL can be ordered by clicking . Put this link on your browser.