SJS PUBLICATIONS
Official Site
Hello everyone! Welcome to my website! This is still in the beginning stages of being a thing, so if you could please contact me with any and all feedback regarding what I can do to make this a more pleasurable browsing experience for you, that would be very appreciated. Don't be afraid of hurting my feelings, but please try to make your criticism constructive.
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EXAMPLES:
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"You suck!"
Well, yeah, I know, but that doesn't let me know specifically why I suck, or what I can do to improve. Not constructive.
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"You're awesome, don't change a thing!"
Thanks a bunch, but that isn't constructive either. There has to be something I could do to improve. Take a few minutes to think it over before you message me, please and thank you.
Showcase
I currently publish all my work via https://www.smashwords.com.
Smashwords is a website that allows anyone to self-publish and distribute books that they have written, all for no charge to the author.
Keep It Quiet
Shane sat alone in his idling car in front of an apartment building in the city. He sighed and checked the clock every few minutes, rubbing at his deep blue eyes. Finally, his partner emerged from the building, coming over and climbing in the shiny black Cadillac.
“About time, Daryl.” Shane scowled and smacked at the sides of his leather steering wheel as the other man buckled his seat belt. “We’re running behind, this job is time sensitive.”
“Alright, okay,” Daryl said, and Shane pulled out into the street. “What are we doing today?” he asked after they drove what he imagined would be long enough for Shane to calm down.
“Today,” Shane answered, “Today, my old friend, we are taking somebody out. Somebody that has been a serious burden on the Family for quite some time.”
Daryl grinned, his teeth crooked and yellow. “Oh, yeah? Taking somebody out? Who?”
“You’ll see. I don’t feel like explaining it all quite yet.”
“Oh.” Daryl looked disappointed for a moment, but he recovered. “I can’t wait. Shane, buddy, we haven’t taken somebody out together in… in… Hell, I’d have to say before you and Shelly got married and had James. Have you even taken anybody out since then?”
Shane’s laughter was forced and mechanical. “Ha. Ha. Yeah, no, it has been a rather long time. I am so looking forward to it, too.” He gripped the steering wheel, veins popping out on his hands as his expression darkened.
Daryl noticed and went quiet, looking down and away from him for the rest of the ride. They stopped several miles outside of the city, by a lake, and Daryl grew brave enough to speak again. “You’ve been acting so weird lately. Is everything okay at home?” He gasped. “Oh, did Shelly find out about Krista?”
Shane laughed again, repeating that odd mechanical sound from before. “No. She won’t. Ever. No one will. Do you want to know how I know no one will?”
“Well, sure,” Daryl answered. “You’re my best friend, Shane. We’ve been friends since we were six. So, what’s the plan, how are you going to keep her a secret?”
Shane hit the button that retracted the car’s roof. He rolled the windows down and offered Daryl a cigarette from his silver tin. The chubby man smiled and accepted, taking a match from him as well. He lit the cigarette and leaned back in his seat. “Shelly getting pissed about the cigarette stink?”
“Nah, Daryl,” Shane answered, lighting up a cigarette for himself. “I’m going to go see Krista after this. She’s the one that hates the smell. I’m going to take her to see the house I’m going to buy for her.”
“You’re going to buy her a house!?”
“Yeah. I don’t want to keep her at the brothel anymore.”
Daryl just shook his head as he rolled the cigarette between his chubby fingers. “You falling for that little girl, buddy?”
Shane frowned. “She’s not a little girl.”
“Well, she’s what? Eighteen? Maybe nineteen? And you’re almost forty, so…”
“So? So what? It doesn’t matter. Without me, that woman would just be a… a…”
“Whore?”
Shane’s frown deepened, danger written on his face. He said nothing as he moved his hand to the hilt of the gun he always wore at his hip. Daryl smoked on, oblivious as he looked out over the lake.
“Yeah, okay. I get it. So, where’s the hit?” Daryl said. He turned to find the barrel of Shane’s pistol in his face. His jaw dropped. “What…?”
“The hit is here. You’re the mark,” Shane said.
“Are you kidding me? This is a joke, right, buddy?” Daryl whimpered and tried to shrink away.
“No. You’ve been deemed useless to the Family. You are nothing but drain on our resources. Also, you are annoying, you stink, and I’ve always hated you,” Shane said. His face contorted into a snarl. “So I’m taking you out.”
“This isn’t funny, Shane. Please don’t do this. We’ve been friends for so long. We graduated high school together. I was the best man at your wedding. Don’t you remember?”
“I’ll take out the madam at the brothel, too. After I move my darling Krista to the house. That’s how I’m going to keep her a secret. When the madam is dead, there won’t be a soul left that knows about her.” He leaned in close, grabbed Daryl’s shirt collar with his free hand, and forced the blubbering man to sit up straight. “Bye-bye, now, buddy.” He spat out the last word and pulled the trigger.
The blood and skull and brain matter mostly flew out of the vehicle, and the body slumped over immediately. Shane’s laugh was real this time as he tucked his weapon back into its holster. He muscled the corpse out of the car and drove off. He knew the family would take care of the rest of the disposal. He had just enough time to change clothes and clean the gore from the outside of his black Cadillac before he went to meet his beautiful young mistress.
Here are a few examples of my work for your viewing pleasure. I apologize if you see one big block of text, I'm getting everything reformatted after transferring it from Word.
Alex’s Great Escape
Alex stood at the hotel room window, peering out of the shades. Flashing red and blue lights filled the hotel parking lot. He sighed, stepping back from the window as he drew his gun. He pointed the barrel at his horrified guest and smirked as she whimpered.
“Really, Jasmine? Did you call the fucking cops?”
“No, Alex, I swear. How could I even have done that? You always have the cell phone, and you unplugged the room phone,” the woman answered, shaking her head and swallowing hard.
“You could have plugged it back in. I knew I should have cut it.” Alex struck the side of Jasmine’s skull with his gun. A sickening thud filled the room, and the woman crumpled to the ground.
Alex ran to the closet. He pulled his suitcase out, threw it on the bed, and packed for his get away. He grabbed the drugs from under the bed and threw them in first. The quarter pound of medical grade marijuana and an eight ball of cocaine then disappeared under some clothes, and on top of everything went his laptop. He shoved the gun back into its holster at his hip, then darted out of his room, looking around at the general hubbub. If he could only get out of the building, he could get away.
Alex walked toward the nearest exit, taking great care not to show in his face how his heart pounded in his chest. If he even looked a tiny bit suspicious, it would be the federal pen for him.
A pair of officers spoke to an alarmed looking busboy down the hall. Alex took a deep breath and prayed that they wouldn’t smell the weed in his bag. They paid him no mind, and Alex let out a relieved sigh as he rounded the corner.
He walked at a fast pace to the elevator and rode it down, his hands trembling. He took deep breaths, watching the numbers drop. Seven, six, five... The door dinged when it reached the lobby, popping open to reveal more cops talking to the staff. Alex swallowed hard and looked straight ahead, holding on to his suitcase tightly. One of the cops looked at him as he went by. Alex held his breath. To his great relief, the cop looked away, and Alex sighed, picking up his pace to get through the front doors.
One, two, three, four, five cop cars sat between Alex and his SUV. The SUV meant the open road and freedom. Any of those five cop cars would mean the opposite. Alex swallowed and wiped his brow. He picked up his pace further and kept his head low. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked. Alex’s eyes widened in fear and he was able to keep himself together no longer. He broke into a dead run to cover the remaining twenty feet to his car. He got in and started up the engine, getting out of the parking lot and tearing down the street.
He managed to get ten miles away down the interstate before he relaxed, feeling safe. He sped up, feeling exhilarated by his close escape. 70, 80, 90 miles per hour he flew into the darkness. He reached into his bag and got out the fat blunt he'd gotten Jasmine to roll earlier, and lit it up. It was almost gone when the red and blue lights went up behind him. Shit.
There was no choice, he had to pull over. He rolled all the windows down as the cop came up, lighting a cigarette with trembling fingers.
“Just finish smoking?” The officer asked him, one eyebrow raised. Alex just nodded. “Get out of the car, please, sir.”
Alex went to draw his weapon when he stepped out of the car, but the policeman moved much faster. The last thing Alex felt was a searing pain in his gut, and the heat of the asphalt against his face. He thought briefly about irony, and then his escape was complete as the darkness of the void swallowed him up.
81 Minutes
A red Dodge drove up to the museum early that morning. Its pale driver wore a grin as he adjusted the costume police cap on his head. “Are you ready?” he asked his partner, a red haired woman also dressed as a police officer.
The woman grinned. “Absolutely, babe. I’m so excited!”
He gave her a passionate kiss, and he brushed some hair from her face. “Alright. Just be sure to keep yourself calm. Stay quiet and let me do the talking. You do that, and we’ll be out of here in no time. Do you have the list?”
The woman pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket. “Here it is. Why these specific paintings, do you think? This museum has lots of famous art, why not grab all of it?”
The man frowned. “Listen, babe. I know you’re excited. But here’s the thing. We are being paid to retrieve these specific pieces. If we take any of the others, we won’t have a place to get rid of them. The heat will be too hot and we’ll get busted. We’ve got to just go in, tie up the guards, grab the art, and get the hell out. Do you understand, my love?”
She batted her long eyelashes at him and smiled. “Okay, that’s what we’ll do, dear,” she answered.
The man nodded and put a pair of dark aviator glasses on over his bright red eyes. “Good. Let’s go.”
The couple walked up to the museum’s employee entrance, looking official. The man reached up and knocked on the heavy oak with the butt end of a metal flashlight.
“Hello?”
“Yes. We’ve been called here about a disturbance in the courtyard. Would you let us in, please?”
Silence from the other end.
The man nudged the woman, gave her a slight grin, and patted the hand cuffs at his waist. She grinned back with a nod and patted the identical cuffs at her own waist. “I love you,” he mouthed to her without making a sound. She blushed and looked down at the ground, grinning and kicking the dirt some.
The door buzzed loudly. The man grabbed the handle and pulled it open, letting the woman go in first. The guard met them in the hallway. “What seems to be the problem?” he asked them in a worried way, wringing his hands.
“Turn around, put your hands behind your back!” The woman said. The guard looked shocked, but did as she said without question. She secured the handcuffs around his wrists, and the couple stood back. “Where’s your partner?
“I don’t know!”
“We’ve got a warrant for both of your arrests,” the man snapped. “So you better call him up here with that intercom of yours, or things are going to get real, real hard for you.”
The handcuffed guard spoke through the intercom. The woman pressed the button for him. “David, could you come to the office, please?”
The woman released the button and smiled “Good job, uh…” she glanced down to his nametag. “George. Appreciate the help.”
When the other guard came in, the male tackled him to the ground, pinning him to the floor and slapping handcuffs on him, too. “What’s going on?” David shouted as he was hauled to his feet.
The art thieves laughed for several minutes, hugging each other close, kissing at each other’s faces. Eventually the man stepped back. He adjusted his sunglasses and gave them a grin.
“This is a robbery, gentlemen. Stay where you are and everything will be just fine,” he announced, and the color drained from the faces of the guards. He smirked and held his hand out to the woman. “The list, please, my love.” The woman pulled the paper from her pocket and pressed it into his hands. “Excellent. Let’s get going.”
The thieves left the guards only after taking some extra time to secure their ankles with rope. In 81 minutes, they flew through the museum, passing up many more famous works for the items on the list. The woman lamented loudly over not being able to take a few that caught her eye, and tried to convince her partner they could get away with it. He stayed firm, however, and they made two trips to the car, taking only the 13 items on the list that their employer had given them. She only pouted for a little while.
They went back to the guards, grinning at the angry looking men. “We’re going to leave now,” the male thief said. “See you in about a year.” The couple left them tied up and handcuffed, laughing as they climbed in their car and took off.
“You did so good, Alice,” the man said to his partner. “I’m very proud of you.”
Alice blushed again. “Thank you. I’ve been learning from the best, Scott.”
Scott grinned and tossed his hat into the back of the car, revealing his hair to be as pale as his skin. “That you have. They’ll never find us, ever. Let’s get back to the base and start planning the next heist.” They drove into the darkness, already discussing how they would celebrate when they got back home.
SAVING GRACE
INT. GRACE’S BASEMENT - BEDROOM - DAY
GRACE KELLER, 45, sits on her bed and holds a length of strong rope in her hands. She ties it into a noose.
GRACE
One, two, three, four, five, six...
She continues to count as she knots the rope.
GRACE (CONT’D)
Thirteen. Thirteen knots for a traditional hangman’s noose.
She holds the noose up when it is complete. She grins and kisses it.
GRACE (CONT’D)
You are lovely. Good sir, kind sir. I’ve picked out the perfect spot for you.
Grace stands up. She looks at the ceiling and holds the noose up to the light.
GRACE (CONT’D)
See? If that beam breaks, the whole house will just fall in. That ought to finish the job.
She tilts her head closer to the rope. She giggles.
GRACE (CONT’D)
No, no. I don’t think there’s much chance you’ll break instead. I have the upmost faith in you.
She takes the unknotted end of the rope, swings it around, and tosses it up over the house’s main rafter. It falls. She shakes her head.
GRACE (CONT’D)
I have got to be sure to do this right. Otherwise this could get messy.
She pushes her bed under the rafter. She climbs up on it. She tries again to get the rope over the beam. She is successful.
GRACE (CONT’D)
You should know, I wasn’t always like this. Not that I’m ungrateful for your services.
Grace ties the rope to the rafter as she speaks to it. She hums and pulls on it several times.
GRACE (CONT’D)
Ever since my husband was murdered, the shadows follow me. They suck the happiness right out of me.
She hoists herself up on the rope for a moment, then drops back on the bed. She pets the rope as she speaks.
GRACE (CONT’D)
I drove my friends away, one by one. That’s okay, though. You’re my friend now, right?
Grace climbs down off the bed and pushes it back into its original position.
GRACE (CONT’D)
I even drove my only child away. I am totally alone now. It’s my fault.
Grace sits in the swivel chair. She spins around to face the laptop and opens a Word document.
GRACE (CONT’D)
This isn’t the first note I’ve written. I’ve discarded countless others. It needs to be just right.
Her eyes flick across the document as she reads it. She makes a few edits.
GRACE (CONT’D)
Whoever finds it must understand that my life has been a living hell. This is the only way out I can see.
She pauses in her typing, turns, looks at the noose, and tilts her head.
GRACE (CONT’D)
Do you grow impatient, friend? I will be with you in just another moment. I apologize for the delay.
EXT. GRACE'S HOUSE - FRONT YARD - DAY
POSTMAN, early twenties, approaches the broken down house. Pulls a brown paper wrapped package from his bag and reaches for the door bell.
INT. GRACE'S HOUSE - BASEMENT - DAY
Grace grabs the bar stool from the corner. Sets it under the noose. DOOR BELL. Grace gasps.
GRACE
Who could that be?
She stares at the noose. DOOR BELL. She shakes her head.
GRACE (CONT’D)
I’m sorry we keep getting interrupted. I’ll be with you shortly, I promise.
She walks upstairs.
INT. GRACE’S HOUSE - DAY
Grace meanders through the kitchen to answer the front door. She pauses and speaks to the pile of the dishes in the sink. She wrinkles her nose.
GRACE
Used to smell better in here. Can’t you just wash yourselves? Lazy freeloaders.
Grace rubs at her face. She continues down the hall, waving her hands at the dirty walls and filthy carpet.
GRACE (CONT’D)
Once my grandchildren ran up and down this hall. Only echoes of the past haunt me now.
She enters the living room and runs her hands across a dusty grand piano. She plays a few notes and makes a face at how out of tune the instrument is.
GRACE (CONT’D)
Music and laughter used to fill these rooms. No more, never again.
She sighs and opens the door. Postman smiles at her. Offers her the package.
POSTMAN
Special delivery.
GRACE
A delivery?
POSTMAN
Yes. It has come all the way from California, Miss Grace.
Grace gasps, takes the package.
GRACE
Oh my gosh. Thank you so much.
Tears fill her eyes. She hands Postman some money. He tries to protest. She closes the door before he can speak. Grace runs back downstairs.
GRACE (CONT’D)
I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it.
Postman blinks. He looks at the money, shrugs, and puts it in his pocket. He walks off.
INT. GRACE'S HOUSE - BASEMENT - DAY
Grace sets the box on her desk and fetches a small knife from a drawer. She opens the box and throws packing peanuts on the floor. She pulls out a mason jar of homemade salsa.
GRACE
Is this salsa?
She frowns and sets the jar down on the desk. She picks up the box, and dumps the remaining packing peanuts out. A letter falls out with them.
GRACE (CONT’D)
What could this any of this mean? What do you think, my friend?
She stares at the noose. She shakes her head and laughs.
GRACE (CONT’D)
That would make sense. I’ll do that.
She picks up the paper and reads aloud to the noose.
GRACE (CONT’D)
Dear Mum, I kicked Ryan out. You were right about him. I have neglected you for too long. I am sorry. Please come move to California with us. Love, Betsy. P.S. Davey made this salsa. It is the same recipe you taught him.
Grace looks up at the noose and shudders. Tears run down her face. She holds the note to her chest.
GRACE (CONT’D)
I’m sorry. I must cancel on you. Turns out I’m still needed in this world. Perhaps next time.
Grace climbs up on the stool and takes the noose down. She sits and undoes the knots. She fetches her suitcase from the closet and places the unknotted rope inside.
GRACE (CONT’D)
If we move fast enough, we can catch the next flight out.
She packs her clothes over the rope.
This next piece is actually a short film script. The formatting on it is also off at the moment. I apologize. I hope to have that fixed in a jiffy.
News & Events
The biggest news is that I am in the process of publishing my very first e-book, which is titled Tales from Paradise: A Brief Compilation of Criminal Acts.
Tales is a anthology of flash fiction stories that I've put together as part of my schooling. It will be available through all distributors for all e-book devices in August 2018.
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Another e-book is in the beginning stages of being assembled. It is currently scheduled to be available on the same formats as Tales in December of 2018.
Emerging author SJ Springman published a collection of flash fiction crime thrillers.
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DECATUR, Illinois, August 2018
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SJ Springman is releasing TALES FROM PARADISE: A BRIEF COMPILATION OF CRIMINAL ACTS in e-book format this upcoming August. It will be distributed via Smashwords directly to your favorite reading device.
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The stories in TALES FROM PARADISE are dramatic and suspenseful, set in and around a city simply known as Paradise. The city appears on the surface to be a perfect place to live, have a family, and grow a business. In reality, Paradise is anything but.
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The short tales in this collection are full of intrigue, catering to those who enjoy a walk on the darker side of humanity.
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“Keep It Quiet” follows a mobster named Shane Wunderlun, who has a secret that he will go to any lengths to protect.
“The Counterfeiter” features the very strange Matthias Madloc, a hermit with an artistic side.
The narrator of “The Hitchhiker” is Rachelle Beck, an unusual teenager with an even more unusual hobby.
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SJ Springman is a 26-year-old writer from the Midwestern United States, earning her BFA in Creative Writing for Entertainment. This is her first e-book, created originally for her Publications and Distributions online class at Full Sail University. TALES FROM PARADISE has now been made available to the public as a sampling of her work. She used Smashwords to self-publish the short collection. Smashwords is a website that allows anyone to self-publish and distribute books that they have written, all for no charge to the author.
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SJ Springman may be contacted via Twitter @SJSpringman or via e-mail at sspringman360@gmail.com. Physical letters can be sent to 2525 Sangamon Road, Decatur, IL, 62521. She can also be reached via phone at 1(217)867-5309.
Press Release
Contacting me is very easy.
You can find me on both Twitter and Instagram, where I use the handle @SJSpringman.
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I can also be located on Tumblr. My blog is called "The New Adventures of An Indie Author."
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LinkedIn is an option for anyone who would like to connect to me on a professional level. See the neat little icons below? Give them a click to be taken to my various social media profiles.
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Finally, my e-mail is sspringman360@gmail.com. Using one of the social media links will yield faster results, though.
Contact SJ SPRINGMAN
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
My name is Shawna Jean Springman, also known more simply as SJ Springman. I'm 26 years old, from the Midwestern United States. I am currently earning my BFA in Creative Writing for Entertainment.