Posts Tagged ‘JD Mader’


In crime on May 15, 2012 at 6:16 am

It was done.  Something about the finality was comforting, but it was also terrifying.  It raised the hair on my neck and sent tingling doubts darting like swallows through the darkening of my mind.  My mind.  Oh, I could remember when it had been mine. It was done.  The gun felt heavy and smoke filtered softly from the short barrel.  The shot had been a surprise.  So fast.  So final.  Weeks and months of agonizing and questioning and wondering if I was mad.  And it was over so quickly. It was in the things she said!  Hidden, encrypted daggers behind innocent conversation.  And her eyes.  Did I get the message?  Oh yes.  There were nibbling doubts from the beginning.  Maybe I was seeing something that wasn’t there?  Maybe I was becoming a tad forgetful…overworked.  But then she would tweak the paranoia.  Her eyes would twinkle the understanding.  I could never ask about it.  She knew that.  That was her trump card. The doing of it.  How does an accountant kill a woman he once loved…still loved…loves?  Did I love her still?  Yes, even as I pulled the trigger, barrel pressed against the back of her sleeping skull, parting her soft blonde hair.  But it didn’t change the facts.  ‘Love’ would not change a thing behind bars.  Surely, I had made mistakes.  But she had spent the money just as I had.  She was culpable!  She was not a fool.  She knew that something was awry, but she couldn’t confront me…the coward…she chose instead to play her games and try to drive me mad.  And it worked.  But not as she intended.  I was not crazy, but mad enough to kill. Sanity was never the question.  Well, maybe the first few times.  I gave her the benefit of the doubt.  But it was all too neat and pretty.  Wrapped up in codes and signal words.  Like the perfect birthday parcel.  Yes, she made me question my sanity.  But I refused to address the question!  The killing.  How to kill?  It is a tricky question, indeed.  I had many plans that did not come to fruition.  Many plots that petered out.  Poison.  A faked suicide.  An ‘accidental’ fall.  But then, the robberies.  The murders.  All over the neighborhood.  In the houses of our friends.  Our peers.  Stolen goods and people murdered in their sleep, while showering, shot through the windshields of their cars. She even tried to suggest that I was the one…never directly.  Because I liked my late night strolls.  Because they eased my burden.  Because I could return home with a blank mind and sleep…not roll in bed, tangled in blankets, replaying our conversations in my mind. So, the opportunity presented itself.  One more victim.  Oh, I could be the aggrieved husband.  I had that in me.  She had pushed me far enough for that.  I was aggrieved.  Betrayed.  Forsaken.  I had it in me; it grew in me and spread through my body like a virus.  I did not fear the questions they would ask.  I did not worry that I would be caught. It was done.  Finally.  The nights of terror.  The blood they threw on me.  The horror I lived with.  The crimson rage and headaches and pages missing from my mind.  It was her.  Damn her.  The whole time, it had been her.  She thought I would be her fool.  But I am no one’s fool.

JD Mader is the author of ‘Joe Café’ and a Contributing Author to Indies Unlimited, where The Accounting was first published (January 17th, 2012). You can find more of JD’s writing at his blog


Next week a new post by Robin Rickards. Don’t miss it!


In crime on May 14, 2012 at 6:07 am
I’ve been asked to write a legit ‘bio’. I have a short bio I usually fire at people to deflect their advances, but it failed me this time. I don’t enjoy talking about myself that much, see? This is a trait many writers share. I am not claiming to be unique. But I will do my best to tell you in 500-ish words who I am.
I was born in a small town in Florida. I quickly left and have not returned to Florida willingly since then. I moved around a lot as a child, bouncing from one principal’s office to another. It wasn’t that I was a bad kid, I just had real, ‘cut off your nose to spite your face’ problems with authority figures. I still do.
I don’t like being told what to do. And I am a man of extremes. On a recent Motorcycle trip (I am the president of the PPMC, an adventure MC Club), I was putting on sunscreen. I read the directions because, well, that’s what I do. They made a big point of not spraying it on the face. It seems I was supposed to spray it on my fingers and then rub it on my face. Of course, I disregarded this advice.
About ten miles down the hot, angry freeway, sweat carried the sunscreen into my eyes and I was instantly nearly blind. I would describe the sensation as ‘very blurry and mind-boggilingly painful’. I rode on at 70 mph, hoping for a straight line, face shield up, willing that my tears would clear my eyes. Finally, I gave the signal, pulled over to the side of an off ramp, ripped off my helmet, and started pouring water into my eyes…frantically.  I did this until I could kind of see. Then, I told my boys we needed to find a place that sold Visine. My eyes were blood red. We had been on the road for ten hours. They were not happy.  “Why did you spray the sunscreen onto your face?” They were incredulous. Why? Because the goddamn bottle told me not to, that’s why.
When my wife wants something done she tells me not to do it. My daughter is the same way.
Let’s see now. You know I have a wife and daughter (she is three). I like motorcycles (like normal people like cake or oxygen). And I like to write. I collect pocketknives and refuse to throw old socks away.
I got my first professional writing gig when I was 14 or 15, writing sports and feature articles for our local paper. They even gave me a column. Don’t ask me to explain this, I will never understand it. I also played in a band and wrote really good lyrics for really bad songs.
I majored in Creative Writing at San Francisco State University and have lived in the Bay Area ever since. I have written two novels: Joe Café and The BikerI recently co-wrote a book with KS Brooks and Stephen Hise. It’s called Bad Book, but
it is actually a pretty good book.  The first two are crime-ish, noir-ish, character based novels. The latter is what happens when writers blow off steam.
I have written a ton of short stories (most available for free at, along with links to essays, stories about my wife’s pregnancy, and links to my music:
I was a reading specialist for ten years, working with learning challenged kids and “at-risk” youth. I loved it, but I am nearly deaf now, and teaching is hard when you can’t hear.
If there is one thing I could change about my life (aside from the crippling poverty), it would be aviation. My father was a pilot. I want, and have always wanted, to be a bird. A hawk, soaring, like the snippet of a dream, above the chaos here on the ground. I have the scars to prove it.
I’ve won some writing awards and gotten some good reviews. I’ve gotten some rejections. My laptop has probably rendered me infertile. I write for myself and also as a contributing author at
So, that’s me in 600 words. I wash my hands more than I should. I like to play songs for my daughter on my old acoustic guitar. I like to sit around a campfire after a long day of riding through rocks and streams. Fishing is my religion. I like club sandwiches. I used to smoke, but quit ten years ago. I write because I can do it fairly well and it helps keep the voices quiet.  My name is JD.  Nice to meet you.

Next week, another post by orthopedic/author, Robin Rickards.