Seeking to Know Your Reading InterestsBy Jay Stoeckl, Editor-in-Chief, Feb. 1, 2022
Reading a DireWolf Dog novel is a great way to Fill the Emptiness. It gives us something to dream about as our American Alsatian lies at our feet. We curl up in our favorite chair by the fire, a cup of something hot and sweet in our hands...
So far, DireWolf Publishing is only offering the non-fiction informative books written by Jennifer Stoeckl and the fiction Jacob Lake adventure trilogy written by Gabriel Paulson. As editor, I want to know from you, our DireWolf Dog community, what genre of book you would most want to have in your hands as you curl up with your dog by the fire for some engaging winter reading. Please let us know in the comments! We would love to hear from you.
In the meantime, here are some samples from different genres to consider from our small pool of writers. Each of these are either already in print or in the process for consideration. All stories will contain either a Dire Wolf Dog or a dire wolf:
When Solomon finally caught up with his dog, Bond, he trembled when the canine revealed yet another body. How did his dog possess the cursed talent to finding murder victims?
The scene was no different than the previous two. A young woman, half-stripped, lying face down in a forgotten alleyway. To Solomon, it left no doubt. This was the victim of the same killer. Solomon was involved far deeper than he would have imagined.
Christine gazed out across the lake as the last of her guests departed,. She turned to face Jordan, the one friend who remained.
Who was this man she had once known and not seen for thirty years? Why had a friend she had once thought she loved in her younger years come to pay his respects to her husband, a man he never knew? Why had Christine arbitrarily asked Jordan to stay a while?
He had arrived without invitation to the gathering on behalf of Lin's death. Now, Christine would be all alone at the lake house where the real grieving would begin.
Jordan rose to help clean up the plates and glasses reminiscent of the guests who had been there. He too, would soon depart, he was sure he had already overstayed his welcome.
After setting the cups next to the sink, he picked up his coat. A gentle hand touched his arm. He turned and noticed that her eyes implored him to linger just a bit longer.
Bebo walked from the court where the barbaric Picts had drilled him with questions half the night. Why would their slave engineer know anything about the Grand Velocity, the coveted missing space craft that could span the universe faster than the speed of light?
"What did they want?" The beautiful Tessa stood at the edge of his junkyard, concern illustrated across her face. She stood with her furry overcoat wrapped around her shoulders, a gentle hand steadying her stance on the fin of a broken down ghost ship.
Bebo refused to allow his eyes to meet hers, for he knew her gaze would force him to reveal to her something he was not yet ready to expose deep inside his protected core. "They believe I know something about the Grand Velocity. I told them such a large ship would never fit in my parts yard."
Tessa stepped in closer. The presence of her sturdy, graceful steps often caused involuntary intimidation. "Well, is that true?"
Bebo stopped, but his eyes remained affixed to the maiden's shoes and would elevate no higher. How could he resist something she continually pressed him about? No, he could not withhold his knowledge any further.
Valencio put down the journal. He thought about the valiant knight as depicted in the village square. Although his mind was ablur after reading the journal text, the picture of Sir Martinôt was clear.
“If the people of this village only knew,” Valencio thought to himself. “They never would have celebrated this poor excuse of a man, this Martinôt, as a hero. No wonder Hubert Evanroe wanted the real truth to come out. The sacred Stone of Arimathea couldn't possibly be in this village. A man like Martinôt would never have had the where-with-all to bring it this far.”
Shoebottom turned his eyes and backed away from his hiding place. For a moment he envied them. Never in Shoebottom's existence had he experienced such playfulness. The two men were each other's best friends. They competed without malice over the girl's attention. This was what friendship looked like.
He froze when he noticed the dog, Angelou, watching him from the edge of the pool. When the dog did not sound her alarm against him, he drew his double swords with careful deliberation.
Shoebottom's mind-sprockets turned. "What to do? The four of them are backed deep inside an alcove with nowhere to run. Even these knights would have no defense against the cryptic warrior."
When the boy opened the large barn doors and looked out into the world, the air was still and the sky remained gray. The storm had passed--passed, but still looking back at the footprints it had left behind. Individual clouds lofted away, dark and still luminous, as if laughing at the gawking figure of an eight-year-old.
Travis, too, stood with a defiance in the face of the weather. Even in his small frame, he held himself tall as if to say, "You tried, yet here I am standing!"
The tempest should have destroyed him and the box of newborn pups the boy had gone into the barn to save. Such a storm would have taken all of their lives were it not for the elderly hobo who had found the boy and his brood beneath the rubble. Even if the collapsing beams from the barn's rafters had not taken their lives, the chill of the frosty air that followed would have accomplished what the wind had not.
Travis took his penetrating eyes from the sky and glanced back at the shelter. There remained the evidence of the man's presence, the coals of a cookfire, what remained of a soothing kettle of tea, and the memory of a compassionate voice from a man Travis did not know.
What became of the homeless man whose smile looked so familiar? Why was he there just at the right time to ensure the boy's survival?
We at the Dire Wolf Project are building a culture around our family community. The literature we publish is a way of deepening the experience within that culture and Filling the Emptiness with tales that are relevant to us as American Alsatian owners. Please let us know your particular preference(s) so that we may put out the best literary works possible.