Timothy Freriks

Books By

Dak: first contact – novella

CoverArt_RealSMALLDAK: first contact

This novella is a short read (16K works) in the science fiction genre. It is the first contact between  two alien cultures and explores the fears and hopes and resourcefulness of individuals who are forced to interact.

Captain Dak is trying to return home from an extended study of the intelligent life-forms on an alien planet when the ship malfunctions. Unable to leave, he is forced to interact with the alien civilization in an uncontrolled environment. Through unexpected plot twists of trust and betrayal, suspicion and respect, Dak learns much about the aliens and himself.

This is a free PDF download. Download.

Enjoy! And if you like this, please look at my other novels and stories at timothyfreriks.com

Billy – a young man on Death Row

I’m posting this again for some of my new readers.

BILLY

August 14, 1974

The screams shattered his peace. He sat up, breathing hard, sweating. He rammed his hands to his temples. Stop! he yelled aloud. Leave me alone! It was the kids, the taunting, jeering, angry kids that came to him when he slept. They were screaming in his head again, their madness engulfing his mind, their hate and laughter echoing.

The young man opened his eyes and looked around to get his bearings; he had drifted off to sleep, but the clock on the painted concrete wall in the hallway had not. It told him that he hadn’t lost much time, enough for the nightmare to visit again, but not enough to put him much closer to the event that would end his pain.

“You OK?” the large guard asked as he poked his head around the corner. The fat black man in the faded blue uniform had become almost compassionate since the final stay request was denied. He grunted and stared at Billy for a moment then tucked his head back to his solitaire at the little table behind the light green wall. His head hit… Continue reading

QuarterShot – a short story

A short story by Timothy Freriks © 2016

The feel of the football in my hand as the center hikes it to me is comfortable and secure and I start to move away from the line. I see the other team’s backfield starting to watch my eyes and the Cornerback trying to figure out how to anticipate what they are saying. The guard can’t see me, of course, since I’m lying behind the low ornate parapet of the dingy, half-destroyed apartment building in this sunbaked, God forsaken city. But I can see him through the scope which is pointed toward the speaker’s platform 631 yards away.

My Wide Receiver is a half-second late in getting off the line toward his lane. It’s a simple hook pattern made to look like a post pattern to confuse the Safety. If everybody else is covered, I’ll hit him in the hook and settle for fifteen yards. The Premier is just starting to enter my field of vision from the right. The guard backs away a step to give him room to climb the steps. Good, that gives me a couple extra inches. But there’s another guard entering from the left… and the Ambassador… Continue reading

Teaser – Roland: of pirates and patriots

Roland: of pirates and patriots – chapter one

Roland_frontCover_REALsmallSeptember, 1800, somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean

The sun was dying again, extinguished by the horizon of water in the distance. The wispy clouds above looked like the eyebrows of an old man. They turned slowly from white to orange to dark gray. Then they were gone, absorbed into the night that was just starting to swallow the remaining day. The ocean was a polished table, flat and still; it was a cause for concern, of course, among the captain and crew of the merchant vessel, but Roland didn’t understand that. His twelve-year-old eyes only saw the beauty of sunset, the purity of nature entering another cycle of wonder. He had come to love the ever-engaging, ever-changing canvas of the water and the movement of the schooner, rocking softly in shallow waves. Conditions had been dead calm for the last twelve days.

Worn and tired and sodden by years of having boards and seas under his feet, sails over his head, and an endless line of worn and tired and sodden men to command, Captain Charles Bigelow watched the boy standing by the rail. Roland’s elbows rested on the wood, his woolen… Continue reading

On Writing 2.0

This is a re-print of a Post I wrote last week. I’ve been asked to re-release it by some new “fans”. (Okay, maybe not fans…maybe followers…okay, maybe not followers… maybe because my sister was out of the country and missed it).

“Writing is a solitary sport”, somebody said. (I like writing better, though: I don’t usually sweat when I write). However, to me, writing is anything but solitary. I have so many characters visiting me in my house-brain that I never seem alone. Sometimes characters are good friends, and sometimes I just wish they’d go away. It’s true: some characters I just don’t like. Some, I love. Some are just there to move the plot along or give the reader insight into a real character. Some come and go and some stick around, continually surprising me.

“Surprising you?” you might ask. “Yes,” I would reply. If your characters don’t surprise you, they don’t grow. If the characters don’t grow, the story doesn’t grow. If your characters don’t twist you and tempt you and keep you guessing and wondering, they won’t intrigue the reader. “But don’t you direct them? Aren’t they your characters?” you ask again. Actually, I think that if… Continue reading

On Writing

“Writing is a solitary sport”, somebody said. (I like writing better, though: I don’t usually sweat when I write). However, to me, writing is anything but solitary. I have so many characters visiting me in my house-brain that I never seem alone. Sometimes characters are good friends, and sometimes I just wish they’d go away. It’s true: some characters I just don’t like. Some, I love. Some are just there to move the plot along or give the reader insight into a real character. Some come and go and some stick around, continually surprising me.

“Surprising you?” you might ask. “Yes,” I would reply. If your characters don’t surprise you, they don’t grow. If the characters don’t grow, the story doesn’t grow. If your characters don’t twist you and tempt you and keep you guessing and wondering, they won’t intrigue the reader. “But aren’t they your characters?” you ask again. Actually, I think that if you consider them to be your characters, the reader won’t take ownership—and isn’t that the ultimate goal of writing? You have to share; you have to bring your readers into your head.

I am continually amazed how much of a third-party I feel when I’m… Continue reading

Roland: of pirates and patriots

Roland_frontCover_smallRoland: of pirates and patriots is in the “alternative history” genre, but it’s maybe more of a “secret history”. It is the “how it happened” that makes this novel engaging.

The United States almost ceased to exist in 1814. Based around true events and actual people, Roland is set in the very early 1800’s, a critical time for America as England was threatening to return the young country to the Crown.

An American ship’s captain is paid by traitors to deliver a large shipment of gold to people in London who intend to weaken America. The captain, a patriot, leads a plot to hijack and conceal the shipment so it can ultimately be used to benefit America. But all conspirators, including twelve-year-old Roland’s father, are killed in a skirmish between opposing forces. Before he dies in a shipwreck, the captain entrusts the boy with the secret. Roland survives and vows to someday use the gold to help preserve America’s independence. However, the First Mate, who discovers that Roland is the key to riches, also survives and swears to find the gold for himself.

Roland brings pirates and patriots together in a complex and engaging weave of mystery… Continue reading

Man on a rope – a short story

The young man stepped gingerly on the wet, algae-covered rocks. He’d learned his lesson: They are slippery; the aching bruise on his ass kept reminding him of that. He found a secure spot to put his feet and paused, listening. No footsteps in the distance. No dogs. Just wind and the babble of the swiftly-moving river. Good.

Encouraged, he started forward again, carefully placing his feet and grabbing whatever strong-looking handholds he could find that stuck out of the carved mud bank. South. South about 100 yards past the sharp bend. That’s what Harry had said. The rope will be there, Tony.

Tony looked back. The only sharp bend was behind him. How far? Had he come 100 yards yet? How could he tell? Tony tried to visualize a football field, but since he was way too skinny and uncoordinated to play sports—not to mention uninterested—he couldn’t. After another fifteen feet—five yards, right?—he raised his eyes from the intricate confusion of the rock and dead branch path to look again. What if Harry meant 80 yards? Did he pass it? What if Harry meant 120 yards? Then he wasn’t there yet. What if Harry didn’t know a yard from his… Continue reading

The Robbins: old farts gone bad

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The Robbins: old farts gone bad

I’m writing a new novel. My wife and I recently bought an RV–whoops, I mean “motor coach”–and are starting to travel and meet the rather eclectic mix of people who do the same thing. Fascinating. So I’m thinking: what sort of trouble can a couple of travelling old farts get into?
Here’s a clip:

Chapter One

Early October 2015

The tall old man pressed against the rough concrete block wall, pushed his wispy silver hair—what was left of it—back along the sides of his head, and waited. The footsteps grew fainter then stopped, followed by the distant sound of a car door opening.
He had disabled a wall-mounted security light with a rock, but it still had a strange blue glow that didn’t do much to illuminate the side of the store; he still felt exposed. He pulled his worn olive-drab coat tighter against the night chill, pushed up his thick glasses and controlled his breathing as best he could as the headlights of the saleslady’s car swung around the corner then pointed toward the main road. After a moment, it receded and almost total quiet returned.
Wayne Robbins flexed his hands, scratched… Continue reading

Cindy, Really – a short story

I’m making a number of short stories available over the next few months. Here’s the second one:

CINDY, REALLY

A Short Story by Timothy A. Freriks
The shoe fit. She knew it would; it was hers, after all. She had stuffed it into the young man’s pocket as she left the masquerade ball.

Prince Robert raised his widened eyes to hers. “It’s you, isn’t it? I was hoping I had found you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Cindy looked into his familiar and beautiful face, the strong, gentle brown eyes and full jaw. She didn’t know what would happen if she told him the truth at the Royal party, that she crashed it in a homemade gown. She couldn’t have known that he would be so taken with her; she hoped, of course, all girls hope a prince would fall in love with them. But here, in fact, was a prince, a real prince, standing in front of her, asking if she was the girl that had captivated his heart. Many confusing thoughts tumbled through her but in the end, the fantasy was too attractive to let go.

She was glad she had scribbled her address on the sole… Continue reading

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