Tag Archives: Series

WHY FIFTY SHADES IS PHENOMENALLY POPULAR WITH (some) WOMEN

The Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy never was, and never will be, nominated for Pulitzer or Nobel literature prizes. But you can’t argue with Fifty Shades’ incredible commercial success as ebook, print, audio, and film products. It’s been ten years since author EL James released this tale of tension between virginal Anastasia Steele and billionaire bad boy Christian Grey. The passing decade hasn’t stopped the intrigue surrounding the story series. That’s due to the one main reason why Fifty Shades is phenomenally popular with (some) women.

I admit something. I’ve never read the books or seen the films. And I’m not going to. I have absolutely no interest in getting involved in bondage and discipline, dominance and submission, or sadism and masochism (BDSM). The only things I’m ever going to tie up are my shoes, and I can get all the pain I need by accidentally pricking myself with the pin from a Remembrance Day poppy.

The reason I’m writing this is curiosity. I got curious about Fifty Shades’ phenomenal popularity when bumping into a fellow writer the other day. She asked what I was up to—my work-in-progress or WIP as it’s called in the accounting biz. I told her about my series-in-development, City Of Danger.

“Wow!” she said. “Cool concept. Who’s your target market?”

“Educated women, like you, looking for a thrill who’ll pay the bill,” I said.

She giggled. “You could have another Fifty Shades of Grey on your hands. Just add some sex. Kinky sex.” Then she winked and walked away.

She got me thinking. When I got home, I asked Rita (my wife), “Did you ever read Fifty Shades of Grey?”

Rita gave me the over-her-shoulder look. “No. I don’t want to read a badly-written piece of smut.”

“Do you know anyone who has?”

“Melissa read it.”

I smiled. “Melissa would. What’d she think?”

“She liked it.”

“Because…”

“She said it was pornography for women. Mommy porn.”

So down fifty grey rabbit holes I went, researching this popular (some) women’s phenomenon. Part was to unlock the secret of success—how I could cast its spell of marketing magic over the City Of Danger. Part was because I had a DyingWords blog post deadline looming, and I needed an interesting topic. Fifty Shades fulfilled both.

First stop was at Amazon to check some figures. Zon’s stats say the print and ebook versions sold over 150 million copies and that was as of October 2017. If EL James, whose real name is Erika Leonard, made two bucks profit per book (like I do) that put her in the 300-million club not counting film, audio, and translation rights. Not a bad return on a writing investment.

Amazon reviews and ratings count. Trust me. I have twenty products published on Amazon and a few 1-Stars to prove it. Fifty Shades of Grey, the first in the series, has 56,514 ratings/reviews for an average 4 out of 5 stars. 59% are 5. 11% are 4. 9% are 3. 7% are 2. 14% are 1. Amazon doesn’t allow Zero-Star ratings or I’d be able to tell you about mine.

My experience with reviews and written ratings is there’s a love/hate relationship between the reader and the writer. If readers go, “Meh… it was okay…” they rarely bother to mark up a score. The lovers will gush out a praise and carry on reading your other books, while the haters will bitch-slap you and leave.

Seeing as Fifty Shades, Volume One, has 59% of 56,514 people loving it, that’s 31,647 and a half people who didn’t think it was a badly-written piece of smut. I know from my Amazon stats that maybe one in a thousand downloaders leave a rating and far less leave a written review. Takeaway here is Fifty Shades of Grey has something big going for it.

I had to have a look. I clicked Look Inside and read the opening. It starts with Anastasia looking in a mirror. Reflection like this—says every writing guru who ever gurued writing—is a bad way to hook a reader. I moved past this because, in my experience, writing gurus should be making money by writing intriguing books rather than guruing others on how to write indigesting books.

My next impression was that 50SOG (as the interwebbers call it) is in first-person, present-tense. It’s not my style but, then, I’m a Frederick Forsyth fan, not a Fan Fiction fan. Moving on. Dialogue? Passable. Characterization? Anastasia developed right away as a main character. Plot? I could see this was heading somewhere that might be interesting. Editing? Impeccable.

There were a lot of written reviews, so I skimmed the best and the worst:

5-Star: So why give a terrible book five stars? I teach a human sexuality course at a college, and this book is an EXCELLENT example of poor communication, disrespect between romantic partners, and toxicity in a relationship. It also demonstrates some of the false beliefs about S&M that society holds. Honestly, it reads like the author has never been in a healthy S&M relationship. Safe-word much? These are great examples for my students, and we mock the book openly in class.

1-Star: No, just no. When I downloaded this series to my kindle before leaving on a long European adventure, I was reminded of the old saying “if everyone else was jumping off a bridge, would you?” I like sex. And god help me, I liked Twilight. Mostly I loved Wuthering Heights, the book that inspired Twilight and then, this. But, Christian Grey is too young and one dimensional to be that twisted. Even to be a billionaire—it would help if she actually interviewed one. Anastasia is a simpleton, through and through. One thing the book gets right—these two really belong together. I tried to turn off my intellectual understanding and proceeded to take it at just porn-level—but even the love scenes failed to titillate. I only weep for all the trees that were destroyed due to this book.

5-Star: My preferred reading is non-fiction – biographies, history, then if I must – novels based on history. I don’t read romance novels nor watch porn. 23% into this book on my Kindle I was ready to terminate reading it but the author slips a joke in at that point and I got hooked. I’ve read books #2 and #3 a couple of times. I’ve read 50 SHADES a dozen times (and currently); for me the book is like cocaine to an addict. It’s very enjoyable. I think everyone from 17 up should read the book and could have a much more satisfying life through their sex life. I also think that some Lit student(s)/journalist should do a study of hospital emergency rooms inquiring into what might be book related incidents since 2012 when the book came out. Bottom line – enjoy cautiously.

1-Star: I wanted to see what all the hubbub was about and bought this a while back. Started reading it and was not impressed. Mommy porn, for sure. Not at all well written. Ridiculous premise. If this guy lived in a trailer in the woods, no woman would go near him. But because he’s a wealthy man, somehow he’s considered mysterious and sexy. It’s shocking and disturbing that’s such deviance is considered entertaining especially since it essentially deals with sexual slavery.

I left the Amazon page without One-Clicking. My curiosity was satisfied that it was a professionally produced product and the terms “badly-written” and “smut” are entirely subjective, although I highly respect Rita’s taste and judgement. After all, she married me thirty-eight years ago and made it work for both of us.

I jumped to Google. Tap. Tap. Tap. Why… fifty… shades… grey… phenomenally… popular… women. The SERPs served me well—problem was there was so much stuff to wade through and find out the main reason why Fifty Shades was so phenomenally popular with (some) women.

I first focused on the series history and its publishing progression along with marketing management. What I read was a one-in-a-longshot. Sometimes the stars align with a big dose of dumb luck. If they didn’t, as in this case, Fifty Shades would have long been run through the Amazon crusher.

50SOG started as Fan Fiction. I’ve never read anything from this genre and wasn’t exactly clear on what it was. Wikipedia, the Queen of Hyperlinks and who has never let me down, says this:

Fan fiction or fanfiction (also abbreviated to fan fic, fanfic, fic or ff) is fictional writing written in an amateur capacity as fans, unauthorized by, but based on an existing work of fiction. The author uses copyrighted characters, settings, or other intellectual properties from the original creator(s) as a basis for their writing. Fan fiction ranges from a couple of sentences to an entire novel, and fans can both keep the creator’s characters and settings and/or add their own. It is a form of fan labor. Fan fiction can be based on any fictional (and sometimes non-fictional) subject. Common bases for fan fiction include novels, movies, musical groups, cartoons, anime, manga, and video games.

Fair enough. Before Erika Leonard was EL James, she wrote fan fiction under the penname Snowqueen’s Icedragon and posted her episodic first run of 50SOG on fanfic websites under the title Master of the Universe. The series took on a huge following of cult-like loyalists.

I need to stop for a sec and say something about Erika Leonard. This was not this woman’s first trip to town. She was already in her forties and worked as a film producer by day and a sharp marketer by night. She knew exactly was she was doing by building a fan base—a repeat audience who would keep on buying her episodes and recommend them to others over the internet. It’s now called “word-of-mouse” rather than “word-of-mouth”.

To quote EL James (Erika Leonard) in an interview where she spoke of her shock at the success of the books, “The explosion of interest has taken me completely by surprise,” she said. James had described the Fifty Shades trilogy as, “My midlife crisis, written large. All my fantasies are in there, and that’s it.”

Ms. James/Leonard drafted the 50SOG trilogy on a classic and a current pop-culture phenomenon. She used Beauty and the Beast along with Twilight and replaced damsels and uglies and vampires and werewolves with a straight-laced virgin and a rich guy with some serious sexual issues. Voila! FanFic fans loved it, and the series went viral in internet circles, being read on subscription web pages.

The mainstream was watching. Traditional Publishing is always looking at who’s making money by setting a trend. The first to pick up on 50SOG was a small Australian publisher who bought the rights and put the series out as ebooks. The publisher, Writer’s Coffee Shop, had limited marketing funds and relied on book bloggers to boost sales through word-of-mouse.

E-sales grew and Writer’s Coffee Shop released paperbacks that sold like iced drinks on a blazing day. Part of the success was marketing brilliance from Ms. James/Leonard. She designed her own covers and was adamant that her then-current publisher (and future publisher at Random House) stay away from the cheesy romance tropes of a ripped hunk clutching a hot chick.

If you note Fifty Shades of Grey, Fifty Shades Darker, and Fifty Shades Freed, you’ll see monotones with a tie, a mask, and a pair of handcuffs. The covers are quite discreet and tasteful. That’s in my opinion, anyway. They allow women of status to comfortably read the books on the tube and not feel some sort of public shame.

Fifty Shades grew astoundingly fast. From May 2011 when it was published by Writer’s Coffee House to March 2012 when Random House acquired the rights, the start of the series broke the million-seller mark. Big hitters like The New York Times, Entertainment Weekly, The Wall Street Journal, NBC’s Today, and ABC’s Good Morning America gave it coverage. 50SOG even graced the covers of Time and Newsweek.

All press is good press, right? It certainly was in Ms. James/Leonard’s case, and it wasn’t long before she was fabulously paid by the film industry. Ten years out, she’s a wealthy, wealthy lady.

So that’s the story of how the Fifty Shades trilogy became famous. But that doesn’t answer the question of why it was phenomenally popular with (some) women. If you rabbit-hole the interwebs, like I just did, you’ll find every self-appointed expert offering their psychological opinion.

You’ll find psycho-analysis of erotic fantasies being primly inbred into human females where they might get physically penetrated by males but do the opposite mentally. You’ll find suggestions that 50SOG lets the bored housewife, who’s on the verge of divorce, sneak away into an imaginary world where she can be just a little naughty without getting hurt… or caught. You’ll find the words “curiosity”, “experimental”, “liberating”, “limit-pushing”, “exciting”, “taboo”, “exotic”, “erotic”, “escape”, “submissive-underneath”, “dominance-on top”, and “delightful wish fulfillment”.

You’ll find the viewpoint that people—(some) women, of course—can’t stop talking about 50SOG, and that it’s presented in a socially-acceptable manner as somewhat of a scholarly study of sexuality. Then, there are the critics who describe the series as beyond banal, actually dreadful. But one thing in common, few wanted to be the last one to read Fifty Shades of Grey.

My conclusion of why Fifty Shades of Grey was phenomenally popular with (some) women? I think Melissa got it right. Fifty Shades is pornography for women. It’s Mommy porn, and I don’t judge those who read it.

HAPPY NEW YEAR & WAZZUP FOR GARRY RODGERS WRITING IN 2021

Well, that was quite the ride. 2020, I mean, not my old ’69 428 Super Cobra Jet Mustang that I seriously regret selling. (But that’s for another story.) This time last year, there was absolutely no way I’d have thought “new normal” would be wearing a surgical mask outside the autopsy suite, lining-up in the rain—six feet apart—to score a cheap box of white wine, and applying online for a haircut then shaggily waiting to hear if I won the barbershop lotto. Thankfully, 2020 was actually a very good year for me. I’ll tell you about it, and also wazzup up for Garry Rodgers writing in 2021.

It was Monday, February 17th when I made the decision. The decision was committing to treat my book writing as a business, not a hobby. I’d been around the writing world for a while by then—going on ten years—and I’d written fourteen book publications, not to mention thousands of commercial web content pages, op eds & articles for online magazines, and blog posts.

Something changed that Monday morning, and I have to thank my friend Adam Croft for changing me. Adam and I have been friends for as long as I’ve been writing. I say it was back before Adam was famous and I still had hair. His mentorship taught me to develop The Indie Author Mindset, and that took my writing world to an entirely new plane.

The indie author mindset is a mental state. It involves changing your thinking, and I guarantee it will change your writing career. Being in the right mind frame invigorates, energizes, and inspires you to believe in yourself, show up, and do the work.

The indie author mindset works so well that in 2020 (despite universal doom and gloom) I published six books not to mention carrying on with blog writing and try to figure out this thing they call marketing. One book was historical non-fiction (Sun Dance—Why Custer Really Lost the Battle of the Little Bighorn), one was self-help (Interconnect—Finding Your Place, Purpose, and Meaning in the Universe), and four were part of a based-on-true-crime series (From The Shadows, Beside The Road, On The Floor, and Between The Bikers).

My 2020 book sales exploded—literally. Not only did I produce more saleable products, I “went wide” by publishing on Kobo and Nook as well as still duke-ing it out on Amazon. I also began experimenting with pay-to-play advertising and tapping retailer support systems. This past year, I’ve had well over 20,000 eBook downloads in 56 different countries which definitely paid back. By some standards, that makes me an international bestselling author.

I’m fine with that. And I’m happy my website and personal blog here at DyingWords keep growing. I installed a stat counter on my site in April 2019 that shows 340,000 visitors since then. My mailing list of regular subscribers and followers also goes steadily up.

Print books, you ask? I only have one print publication out and that was my first crack at novel writing. I think No Witnesses To Nothing was my best effort and I’ve gone downhill from there, but that’s not what the stats say and I have to go by that. The problem I see with print books, as opposed to electronic ones, is the return on investment. Sure, it’s the same manuscript. However, there’s the cost of producing a back cover and spine which adds about $200 to the production overhead and that requires a lot of sales to pay off. Having said this, though, I do plan on putting the Based-On-True-Crime books out on paper via Ingram Spark.

What about audio books? That’s another income source to tap into, and it’s very tempting considering the big upswing in audio sales that occurred in the year of whose name shall not be spoken. But… audio books are even more expensive to put out considering the output requires a voice-over that can run 200 bucks an hour for professional results. One step at a time…

I had a real honor bestowed in June 2020, thanks to crime writer and crow lady, Sue Coletta. I was invited as a regular blog contributor on The Kill Zone. This is a popular site (One of Writers Digest Top 100s) composed of 11 top thriller and mystery writers who cover all aspects of that industry. TKZ posts range from helpful pieces on writing craft to hard reality in the publishing business.

A fun side project was helping a friend, Christine Orme, publish an illustrated children’s book titled We Need More Toilet Paper. This was timely and sent a positive message to youngsters bewildered by life changes caused by Covid regulations. I did the formatting while Sue Coletta, my BFF, helped with editing.

July brought a pleasant surprise. I planned a “stacked promotion” for In The Attic which is book number one in my based-on-true-crime series. “Stacked” simply means I placed multiple ads on different online book promotion sites. The result? In The Attic hit the #1 Bestseller spot on the overall Amazon Crime Thriller list. I framed the screenshot.

Another venture was publishing a collection or boxed-set of books. I packaged In The Attic, Under The Ground, and From The Shadows into one eBook. Sales have been so-so, but it’s part of the long-term vision that makes the core of the indie author mindset.

My book business strategy involves having as many products available for sale as possible. My tactics are to increase my inventory (backlist) and speed up my delivery (new releases). For example, one eBook on Amazon is one product. An eBook with print and audio options are three products. Multiply that by a dozen titles, and now there are thirty-six products. Expand the distribution to five separate retail outlets (Amazon, Kobo, Nook, Apple, and Google) and this gives one hundred eighty individual products for consumers to choose from.

It’s a numbers game, and the key to financially succeeding is distributing decent products (i.e. marketable stories with proper editing and professional covers) as widely as possible in multiple formats. As preached in the indie author mindset, it’s all about getting your “ass in the chair and fingers on the keys”. That’s the focus for 2021.

My plans for this coming year are to release six more books in my based-on-true-crime series. The seventh one, Beyond The Limits, is nearly done and should be on the eShelves by mid-January. After that, there are five more planned to finish this series which is doable over twelve months.

The biggest new venture, however, is taking on a podcast. Podcasting is something I’ve been interested in for the past couple of years. This medium is not a sunset industry by any means, and the plan is to increase my writing exposure, or discovery, plus have some fun. I’ve spent the past month researching how successful podcasts are properly done, and I think I have a general handle on the technology.

I don’t want to slip the bag off the cat or pull the sheep over your face. But, I’ll hint I’m going to co-host a program… PostMortemPod — Two Crime Writers Dissect Famous Murder Cases. And I’m not going to mention my BFF co-host’s name either unless she wants to leave it in the comments. What we’ll do is have video/audio chats trying to make sense out of high-profile homicide and suspicious death files like JonBenet Ramsey, Natalie Wood, and the Black Dalia. You never know… we might take on a serial killer or two.

That’s an ambitious agenda, I know. However, it’s work I love doing, and this writing gig is not just a job for me. It’s my life. It’s what I do. I also love reading and learning new things which I did a lot of in 2020. My vocabulary extended to new Caronacoinage words and phrases like Covidiot, Doomscrolling, Quazz, Sanny, Miss Rona, Social Distancing, Coronacoaster, Locktail Hour, Flatten The Curve, Miley Virus, Liquor-Lockdown, Isobar, Isodesk, Blursday, Zoombombing, WFH, Healthcare Hero, Quarrantini, and this beaut from an Aussie, “Strewth mate, the Rona bought out all the Bogan magpies, so I cracked the shits and opened a coldie”.

Thanks to everyone for supporting my work. Thank you. I truly appreciate hearing from you regardless if comments are good, bad, up, or down. That’s how life goes, and I hope your life in 2021 is full of goods and ups!

BESIDE THE ROAD — NEW BASED-ON-TRUE-CRIME SERIES BOOK #4

Dead Men Do Tell Tales

New Book Release – June 2020 – by Garry Rodgers, DyingWords Digital & Print Media Canada

Warning! Beside The Road is based on a true crime story. It’s not embellished or abbreviated. Explicit descriptions of the crime scenes, factual dialogue, real forensic procedures, and actual police investigation, interview and interrogation techniques are portrayed. Some names, times and locations have been changed for privacy concerns and commercial purposes. 

Prologue

He lay beside the road. He lay beside the road as dawn’s first streaks smeared the eastern sky and the horizon’s weak rays cast frail shadows through early mist. Songbirds introduced the day—while an owl’s screech signed off the night—as he lay on his back in death’s putrid stench… discarded and dumped down a backwoods bank beside the road.

Light spread through the rural woods where a poorly-paved path cut a meandering trail high above him, shielding his corpse from passing view. The sun unhurriedly appeared. It evaporated the overnight dew that formed in early summer, and the temperature began to rise from a tolerable chill. Predictably, the sun climbed the cloudless sky towards another afternoon’s peak of uncomfortable heat.

By nine, the sun angle was right for direct beams to touch his torso through the picket-fence gaps in roadside trees vertically rising from the steeply-sloped bank. A stand of coastal Douglas fir, native to British Columbia’s central Vancouver Island, guarded his body while a canopy of Western red cedars sheltered his cadaver from the direct sear of mid-day heat. The forest floor was a pad of thorns and ferns and moss and sticks and leaves and sticky needles that slowly deteriorated along with him as part of the universal plan.

Hour by hour, as the world turned and time passed, intermittent sunlight radiated him into a zipper-like pattern. Low luminosity left a softening effect on his exposed skin while solar gain from higher scales scorched him with a dryness that turned his trunk zebra-striped in a way few deceased people present. He had a piano-key pattern and a rarity produced by alternating spectrums of electromagnetism.

Day by day, as the Earth evolved and entropy progressed, he became a unique specter—part putrefaction where light hit him low and part mummification where diffusing blows of afternoon rays parched his flesh.

He was clothed. Partly clothed, that is, with his feet in shoes and his privates in shorts. His singlet, or wife-beater muscle shirt, bunched about his upper chest. His head was bare and so were his arms. His hair was stringy strands of brownish sludge that trapped the decomposing flesh and fats flowing from his scalp. And, his left hand reached as if grasping for help while his right helplessly crooked behind his back.

His face was mostly exposed to the bone and his eyes were gone. His cranium sucked in the sunlight and left him with a bare-skull appearance where his teeth—a distinctly different dentition—gave a half-snarl and a half-sneer similar to a pirate’s ghastly flag.

He had a name. He once had a family, and he once kept some friends. He once had a childhood and he laughed and he played and he schooled and he fooled around like anyone passing through their youth and into their adulthood would. But, his life was extinguished and his consciousness had parted ways with his physical entity—his remains left on the slope beside the road to break down.

Now, he was a medical mess with nature’s creatures consuming his corpse. Insects cycled through their growth stages and carried on the continuous loop of evolution. Forest vermin feasted on their share of his disarticulating decay while circling birds apprehensively watched for their chance at a piece of the putrefied pie.

He had a past. He had a past not to be proud of that caused him to be in his present condition—a dead and discarded human body that lay in silent stink beside the road.

Chapter One — Tuesday, July 9th – 1:10 pm

Leaky Lewis sent me a text. body beside the road. prob foul play. can u attend?
I texted Leaky back. What road, ffs? There’s a thousand roads in this town.
Leaky replied. o sorry. nanaimo lakes rd. approx 6 mi west near gogos sawmill.
I typed. Helpful. Are you there now?
He responded. no. im in council meeting. thats why text and not call.
I returned. So who has the scene?
Leaky pecked. uniforms got it. forensics en route. i called coroner. she’ll meet u.

——

Leaky Lewis was my boss at our Serious Crimes Section. He was junior to me in service, but that was okay. I preferred investigating murders more than stretching budgets and scrambling resources like Leaky had to do. And, this case of the body beside the road stretched and scrambled our budget and resources to the max. We used almost every investigation tool and technique available before we finally solved the most baffling and bizarre homicide file of my long detective career.

Leaky’s name was Jim. Jim Lewis. He’s a great guy, but had a serious incontinence problem with post-urinary drip. That’s why the nickname. Leaky couldn’t venture far from the trough without Depends, but he made sure we had everything needed to do our job.

By “our” I mean the seven-person squad tasked with investigating violent persons offenses that happened around the Nanaimo area. We’re located on central Vancouver Island in British Columbia right across from the craziness and congestion of the City of Vancouver. Nanaimo has Canada’s mildest year-round weather. I’d been here on the southwest coast for years and had hit my best-before date. During that time, I’d seen a lot of serious crimes because Nanaimo had an extraordinarily high homicide rate.

Leaky looked after our entire plainclothes unit. Besides the Serious Crimes bunch, he supervised the Commercial Crime unit, Sex Offenses, Forensics, Drug Squad, and one poor prick plagued with frauds and bad plastic. Leaky also oversaw the secret squirrels in our intelligence branch and two notoriously bad-behaved boys on the Street Crew.

——

I pulled up to the crime scene on Nanaimo Lakes Road in my unmarked Explorer. Like Leaky texted, it was just over six miles west of the city limits near a small sawmill run by industrious Slavic immigrants called the Gogo family. There were two police cruisers parked on the right-hand shoulder, the north side, with their red and blues flashing. Two other vehicles sat along the shoulder. One was our forensic unit’s mobile shop. The other belonged to Global TV’s roaming cameraman.

A uniformed cop with a paddle-board stop sign directed traffic around the entourage. She pointed to the left lane and gave me a “get-going” motion. I didn’t recognize her. Likely a new recruit. I hit my grille lights and she startled. Then, she smiled and pointed to the steep bank beside the road.

I parked, got out, and walked toward the marked car at the front of the pack. Already I could smell it. It was that unforgettable stench—somewhere between reeking ammonia in ripe rotten eggs and the putrid aroma of deeply-decayed roadkill. It was the smell one never mistakes.

A senior officer guarded the scene. He’d been with the patrol division for a long time. The patrolman introduced me to the stop-sign gal. I was right, she was a brand-new hire.

“What’s happening?” I was matter-of-fact.

“Body down the bank.” The old harness bull thumbed to the thick stand of Douglas fir trees rooted to the slope and standing tall. Western red cedars loomed overhead. “Been there a while from the look and smell.”

“What do you think?” I stood at the edge. It was loose gravel beside the road’s crumbling pavement. I did not want to slip and take a tumble.

“At first I thought it was a deer.” He scrunched his nose. I could see the young officer kept her distance. “That’s what the guy who reported it thought, too. He was riding his bike up the grade and caught a whiff. So, he stopped and looked over and saw his dead deer wore running shoes.”

“Witness guy still around?” I looked about. The only civilian seemed to be the TV man rolling film.

“No.” The patrolman shook his head. “I got my cadet to take his statement. Gotta start somewhere, right? Then we sent him on his way.”

“Great, thanks.” I paused to look around and take in the scene.

It was bright sunshine and getting uncomfortably warm. The early afternoon sun was south-southwest and high enough to shine over the bank and flood its light on the slope. The site was at the leading edge of a tight left-hand bend, and the road was sharply inclined toward the west. It led to a double-S curve with a cautionary slow advisory sign—not the sort of place to safely pull off.

The traffic was light. A loaded logging truck approached and followed the young officer’s direction. It chugged up the grade and disappeared through the curve. A smaller silver SUV arrived. Instead of bypassing as the officer indicated, the SUV came to a stop behind my Explorer. I saw the new cop frown as the driver put it in park and shut off the engine.

I knew who it was. The door opened and a silver-haired lady with a silver clipboard matching her mane got out. Honey Phelps, our coroner, walked toward me.

“Hi, Honey. Imagine meeting you here.” I smiled. Honey. I love the name. It perfectly suited her. She’d been with the Coroners Service for years, and I’d worked with her at countless death scenes. She was always the consummate professional but with a black humor tinge.

“Is that you?’ Honey whiffed the air like a bear. “Or is that my client?”

“Probably a bit of both.” I chuckled. “I haven’t had a look yet. Waited for you to get here.”

“Looks like Forensics beat me.” She nodded toward the big rig that looked somewhere between a SWAT team’s truck and an indie rock band’s Winnebago.

“Yeah. I think they’re inside suiting up.” I motioned toward the Forensic Identification Section vehicle. “Let’s go have a chat with them.”

Honey looked at my Explorer and then at me. “You alone? No Harry today?”

I grinned. “Nope. I’m batching it. She’s tied up in a court case.” I referred to my usual partner, Sheryl Henderson who we called ‘Harry’ after the Bigfoot in the movie Harry and the Hendersons. Sheryl was a large lady with large hair and an even larger personality.

Honey and I walked up to the Forensics vehicle just as Sergeant Cheryl Hunter stepped down. Her understudy, Matt Halfyard, stayed inside. We called him Eighteen Inches.

Cheryl was dressed in her bunny suit. It’s the white Tyvek coveralls that CSI people constantly wear. I’m sure she slept in that thing.

“What do you think?” I asked Cheryl much the same thing I’d asked the senior patrolman. It was usually a pretty good opener.

“Not sure yet.” Cheryl had her digital Canon ready. Matt was loading a video camera. The first thing Forensics always do is film the scene before they enter it. That step was non-negotiable, and the guarding officers made sure no one went near the body before Forensics began their painstaking thorough task of recording the overall scene. Examining the body beside the road would follow.

“I’m not sure what to think.” Cheryl was always careful with opinions and cautious with conclusions. She was like all forensic examiners. They work with facts. Not fables. It was the nature of the beast.

“I haven’t been down to the body yet.” Cheryl looked to her left and over the bank. “It’s about twenty-five feet downslope and looks like it’s hung up against tree trunks. I have no idea if he… it looks like a he from the size and style of running shoes… that’s all I can really make out from here… if he was hit by a vehicle and sent flying over the bank or if he was driven out here and dumped.”

I looked around. The TV camera guy looked back through his viewfinder. “Doesn’t look like a suicide type of scene.”

Cheryl and Honey agreed. We’d all seen a lot of suicide scenes and this one didn’t fit. My gut feeling said dumpsite.

“Let’s just take this step-by-step till we see what we’ve got.” Cheryl was the voice of reason. “One thing’s for sure. This isn’t a recent scene. From what I can see above the shoes is bare-bones with putrefied flesh partly attached.”

“Been here a while, then.” Honey observed.

“Yeah.” Cheryl looked up at the sun. “But it doesn’t take long in this weather.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Honey smiled. “Let’s have a better look at who’s down there beside the road.”

*   *   *

Beside The Road — Book 4 in the Based-On-True-Crime Series by Garry Rodgers is just released  — June 2020 — and now downloadable from these leading EBook retailers: