So now I had two intense horror novels, ready to publish. All I had to figure out is what to do with them.
During the 18 months I’d been working on TRAPPED and ENDURANCE, I’d turned some of my older books (written under my real name, J.A. Konrath) into ebooks. To my surprise, they sold like crazy. Rather than pursue traditional print publication, I decided to avoid do it alone and release TRAPPED and ENDURANCE myself.
So which version of TRAPPED did you just read? The rewrite, or the original?
This one you just read is the rewrite. Though there were some scenes I liked more in the first version, I think the rewrite hangs together better, and it is the one I prefer. That one also is more of a direct sequel to AFRAID, where the previous version only alluded to it.
But is the rewrite the definitive version of the novel?
I don’t believe so. I can see going back to this book in a few years, putting in all the parts I cut out, and making some sort of “fully uncut” edition.
Until then, if some intrepid readers are interested in reading the first draft of TRAPPED, I’ve included it in this ebook after the excerpts from a few other novels. It’s not completely edited (this was a first draft), so expect some rough spots and some typos. But people have been asking me to see it, so who am I to say no? I love my readers, and if they want it, I’ll let them have it as a free bonus.
What are the differences between the two? The first draft of Trapped is darker. It has some sex in it. Several different characters. A different sub-plot. A different ending.
It’s so cool that ebooks allow authors to publish first drafts in conjunction with final drafts. I expect more and more ebooks to contain extras like this, because the format lends itself to extra content.
If you do read both versions, and plan to write a review (which would be very cool of you to do so), please rate the one you preferred rather than average them together. The goal of this extra content is to make the fans happy, but if you like one of the versions more than the other, please don’t punish me with a lower review because I gave you a choice.
And if you’ve finished this book, and you’re shocked by how horrifying it was and wondering what kind of lunatic could write such a ghastly story, just remember: this is only fiction. No one was actually killed and eaten during the writing of this novel.
As far as you know…
May 26
Chicago, IL
Read the Jack Daniels series by JA Konrath
Whiskey Sour
Bloody Mary
Rusty Nail
Dirty Martini
Fuzzy Navel
Cherry Bomb
Shaken
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Origin
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Crime Stories – Collected Short Stories
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Jack Daniels Stories – Collected Short Stories
55 Proof – Short Story Omnibus
Suckers by JA Konrath and Jeff Strand
Planter's Punch by JA Konrath and Tom Schreck
Floaters by JA Konrath and Henry Perez
SERIAL UNCUT by Blake Crouch and Jack Kilborn
Truck Stop by Jack Kilborn and JA Konrath
Writing as Jack Kilborn
Afraid
Trapped
Endurance
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The Newbie’s Guide to Publishing
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Excerpt from ENDURNCE by Jack Kilborn
Maria unlocked the door to her room and was greeted by Abraham Lincoln.
The poster was yellowed with age, the edges tattered, and it hung directly over the queen-sized bed where the headboard would normally be. The adjoining walls were papered with postcards, all of them boasting various pictures and portraits of Lincoln. The single light in the room came from a floor lamp, the shade decorated with a collage of faded newspaper clippings, all featuring—big surprise—Lincoln.
So that’s why the crazy old proprietor called it the Lincoln Bedroom.
Maria pulled her suitcase in behind her, placed the room key on a scarred, old dresser, and turned the deadbolt. The door, like the lock, was heavy, solid. As reassuring as that was, this room still gave her the creeps. In fact, everything about this bed and breakfast gave her the creeps, from its remote and impossible-to-find location, to its run-down facade, to its eccentric decorations and menagerie of odd odors. But Maria didn’t have a choice. The hotel in town had overbooked, and this seemed to be the last room available in the entire state of West Virginia.
Iron Woman had become quite the popular event, with worldwide media coverage, and apparently they'd given her room reservation to some reporter. Which was ironic, because Maria was a registered contestant, and without contestants, there wouldn't be any need for reporters. The reporter was the one who should have been staying in the Lincoln Bedroom, with its bizarre decor and its strange smell of sandalwood mixed with spoiled milk.
Maria sighed. It didn't matter. All that mattered was a good night's sleep after more than twelve hours on the road. She'd missed her late night workout—this inn didn't have an exercise room—so the best she could hope for was a five mile run in the morning before getting back to the event hotel, which assured her it would have a room available tomorrow.
Actually, the hotel room will be ready later today.
A glance at the Lincoln clock on the nightstand showed it was past two in the morning.
She had promised to let Felix know when she got in, and pulled her cell phone out of her jeans, her thumbs a blur on the keyboard.
F — U R probably asleep. I M @ a creepy B&B, not the hotel. Long story, but it’s free. That = more $$$ to spend on our honeymoon. J WTL8R. TTFN, H2CUS, luv U — M.
Maria circled the room, holding her cell over her head, trying to find a signal while the floorboards creaked underfoot. When a single bar appeared, she sent the text message and walked to the poster. She placed her cell on the nightstand as a reminder to charge it before she went to sleep, hefted her suitcase onto the bed, and dug inside, freeing her make-up bag and taking it to the bathroom. She flipped on the light switch and was rewarded with the sight of President Lincoln's face on the toilet seat cover.
“I’ll never look at a five dollar bill the same again,” she said, but her tone was without mirth. Rather than amusing, she was finding this whole Lincoln thing creepy.
Maria shut the door behind her—more out of habit than modesty—lifted the lid, undid her jeans, and sat down, the cold seat raising goosebumps on her tan thighs. She yawned, big and wide, as the long day caught up with her.
The bathroom, like the bedroom, was tiny. The sink was crowded next to the shower stall, and if Maria were a few inches taller her knees would touch the opposing wall. Hanging on that wall was a framed painting of Lincoln. A head and shoulders portrait of his younger years, before he had the famous beard. His ultra-realistic eyes seemed to be staring right at her.