5 Things I’ve Learned by Author H.D. Lynn

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  1. No one can teach you your voice.

I started writing when I was six (books about talking horses if you must know). One thing about six year olds you notice is that they do things (pick their nose, play in the sand, color on walls) because they find them interesting enough to capture their short attention spans. I made picture books because I liked reading picture books. No one was teaching me how to do that.

To put your mind at ease, I’ll let you know that God’s Play is not a picture book about talking horses. It does have one thing in common: no one taught me how to write those characters. I didn’t take a class on how to write Toby’s POV. There’s no Ph.D. in storytelling because humans have been telling stories to each other probably as long as our brains have been capable of doing so. After inventing the alphabet, humans literally started writing fiction.

My point is, if you can read and write, you can tell a story.

But a good story? Yeah, that’s the question I know you’ve asked yourself because I ask myself that same question all the time, too. Is it good? That’s a bit subjective, but part of good storytelling comes from practice. You’ve just got to go for it and tell yourself as many stories as possible. Silly stories. Sad stories. Salubrious stories. Anything, really, to get an idea of what you—yes, you—want to say.

  1. But you can certainly learn everything else.

Horses to God’s Play happened because I went to school. That’s the simple part that would’ve been staggeringly difficult if I was born in a different time or even a different place. A good, basic education in writing coherently is something valuable, and I really did learn most of what I needed to write when I was young (start humming The Killers here). I learned how to grammar and (kind of) spell. I read a lot, so I learned some little tricks they don’t teach in 7th grade English. (I had a very good 7th grade English teacher, so I learned plenty there, too.) The greatest leap in my writing style came fairly recently, though, after taking style, rhetoric, and editing classes. Thinking like an editor helped me organize what I was writing and kept me on track during early drafts.

Then, there’s this mysterious business of publishing. The Age of the Internet is upon us, and that makes finding just about anything you want to know possible. There are a lot of writers online, and if you’re reading this, you might be a writer, too. There’s nothing particularly anomalous about how God’s Play got published. I wasn’t taping rejection letters to my wall (most agents and publishers only accept emails anyway), and I didn’t come anywhere close to making this list. I did keep an excel spread sheet of everyone I’d ever sent a query to with some basic contact info and what I’d sent them; this simple system carried over for full requests as well. This is the ‘one page outline’ of organization strategies, both of which were essential to getting God’s Play written and published.

That’s right: the internet, a typing program, a non-embarrassing email address, one front and back page of notebook paper, and an excel spreadsheet. That’s what you minimally need to write and submit a book.

  1. Check your ego.

I did leave one thing out of my ingredients list: other people! That’s because the other people involved in getting a book to publication can be anywhere from one to legions (if you count people funding Kickstarter projects). The standard Starter Pack usually includes some combination of beta readers, critique partners, agent, editor(s), cover artist, and marketer(s)/publicist(s). These people were vital in getting this book published, and I’m appreciative of everything they’ve done for me.

But there were times when I did not want to hear (or mostly read) what they were saying.

I love God’s Play—the story, the characters, it is mine. Mine, I tell you! But parts of it also belong to the people who helped me write this book, and this never would’ve happened if I didn’t have these people in my corner. So I sacked up and made revisions; deadlines weren’t phantoms haunting me from my Ethernet cables. Ego wants to make you feel good all the time. It’s your own little cheerleader, but there are times when this book needed tough love, so ego got benched.

  1. Schedules and rituals can be your friend and your enemy.

A lot of authors have writing rituals. A favorite coffee shop, a special desk, a magical jig, a lucky desk troll—you get the idea. I’m pretty ritual free, and that’s been a bit of a curse for me, especially during that nebulous time called ‘the weekend.’ I can just stay in bed all day! This is when I do go to aforementioned favorite coffee shop and do my magical jig (they haven’t kicked me out…yet).

That said, I’ve often felt hamstringed by rituals. They’re for, like, adults and serious people. A story needs room to breathe. God’s Play started out under a different title; the story was supposed to be novella length. It was a radically different book, and about 40,000 words in, I knew it was going to be a different story than I’d originally thought. So there was rewriting and outlining…and then the story sat. For months. (That’s like writing negative words and losing NaNo.) Then, one a snowy weekend, I sat down and finished the book (35,000 words) in three days. Later drafts made it a bit longer, but that’s how the initial rough draft got completed. It was insane, but it worked for this novel—for me. So don’t get hung up on your 1,653 words a day—just write. Or don’t.

  1. You better be having a blast.

I had a great time writing God’s Play. Seriously, divide 35,000 by 3. If you’re writing ~12,000 words a day, you’re hooked on something (writing and pomegranate green tea). I came back to God’s Play because I believed in this story—there was something about it that was intuitive, living in my subconscious. The ending was there, I just needed to take that leap and slot as much of the plot into place in the first draft as possible. That was fun.

And thank god because editing can be tedious. I loved this story, but you better believe there were times I questioned whether I wanted to publish this book. That nifty excel spreadsheet started to feel like a wall of shame at some point, and I wondered how many revisions I’d need to do before this thing was ready or if it would ever truly be publishable. There’s a lot of self-doubt involved, and it’s only the memory of that hot-n-heavy passion I had with this story that kept me working. I couldn’t betray this book, so I kept working.

And this part? This part is amazing. I found new energy for writing since I looked at the book cover for God’s Play. So keep on keeping on, and enjoy the book excerpt!

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Description: 

Sixteen-year old Toby was trained by a family of hunters to kill shape-shifters — but he has a unique weapon in his arsenal. With a touch of his hand, Toby can lift the magical protection shape-shifters use to disguise themselves as human. It’s an unusual skill for a hunter, and he prefers to kill monsters the old-fashioned way: with a blade.

Because of his special skill, Toby suspects he may be a monster himself. His suspicions deepen when William, a jackal-headed shape-shifter, saves him from an ambush where Toby’s the only survivor. And Toby doubts William helped him for purely altruistic reasons. With his list of allies running thin, Toby must reconcile his hatred of shifters and the damning truth that one saved his life. It’ll take both of them to track down the monster who ordered the ambush.

And Toby needs his unlikely alley because he has a vicious enemy — the infamous Circe, who has a vendetta to settle against the hunters. Toby has to unravel the mystery of his dual nature. And he has to do it on the run — before Circe finds him and twists him to her own ends.

 

boatAbout The Author:

H.D. Lynn is like Harry Potter in one way: she’s currently renting an apartment with a bedroom under her building’s stairs. Other than this, she explores fantasy worlds through storytelling like anyone else. She loves books with a mix of humor, adventure, and horror, and especially enjoys the urban fantasy genre. GOD’S PLAY is her first published novel.

When not writing, she enjoys hiking, climbing, and running. She’s a voracious reader, and has found listening to audiobooks while backpacking to be a perfect mix of two of her favorite things. She currently lives in Connecticut, but finds herself on the road often.

 

Tuesday Tales – Short – Escaping Humanity

EH2_medWelcome back to Tuesday Tales!

This weeks prompt is to be inspired by the word Short.

Since it went over so well last week, I’m returning to Escaping Humanity again.  This time we meet a few other characters. Again, I’ll have to try to shorthand it a little for you.

Annie is a mutant that is dying of a mysterious illness. James (brother of Lynx/Elan from last week) is a clone that was created to be an always-angry super-soldier, the fiercest fighter…but his mother Talisa (who built him) made sure he was damn brilliant too.  He’s confused by the fact that he cares for Annie…but when he kissed her, she collapsed from her illness.

Chance is the Lenape tribe chief, Talisa’s & Roark’s best friend. Charlotte is also James’s sister (and Lynx’s twin…they have a twin connection where one can sense the other…).

Clear as mud? Well, good…here you go, throwing you to the wolves 😉 Oh, and I turned Short into Shorty…b/c that’s a nickname in the story 😉

Charlotte rushed into the room right as James laid Annie on the bed. “What happened? Where was she?”

“She went to see the sunset.” James didn’t bother to hide the snarl that had returned to his voice. He was angry that she’d had another attack so fast. More so that she actually thought she was less of a person. And the pinnacle of his anger lay with the bastard that had done this and so much more. “I’m going to rip that son of a bitch into tiny little pieces.”

“Stand in line,” Charlotte muttered. In quick succession she hooked the monitors back up. The IV was replaced, and she added new medicine. “Her pulse is weak and thread. At this point I don’t feel safe taking another sample, but I think it’s safe to say she’s deteriorating further.”

“Maybe Elan was stupid, but then again maybe she was the smartest one here. We need Mom. You sure as hell can’t think outside the box like she can.”

“Stop it James. Stop taking your confusion out on me. You care about Annie. You want her better. I get it. Just admit it so we can move on and fix her.”

James stopped mid-pace, a low growl in his chest. There were many things he was capable of, many horrible, cruel things. Caring was not one of them. “Nice try, shorty. I don’t care. I’m a not-so-natural born killer, remember?”

“Blah blah blah.” Charlotte rolled her eyes. After checking the monitors and making notes in the chart she stepped away from the bed. “Go ahead and sit with her. I know you want to. I’ll get back to work on trying to think outside the box.”

“What happened?” Warren raced into the room ahead of everyone else. “Is she okay? Damn it. I thought she was up, she was doing better.”

James couldn’t stop the growl that shot through him. “She’s dying. She thinks her parents don’t trust her, and there is no hope for her. Yeah. She’s stellar.”

“Easy James.” Chance walked in behind Abby. “Charlotte? What’s the word?”

Charlotte didn’t respond. When James glared toward her silence, he realized she’d paled so much, she looked like a white woman instead of the native she was. Whatever her distraction, he couldn’t be bothered with it.

“Shorty!” James snapped his fingers in front of her face. “What the hell is up with people anymore? They can’t focus long enough to actually help someone. Since Char is out of commission and can’t be bothered to think outside the box, I guess I’ll go back to the stupid lab.”

“James.” Chance didn’t have to speak loud to put the power of his role behind his words. When James was smart enough to keep his lip shut, Chance turned to Charlotte. “Is everything okay in there?”

Charlotte’s head shook violently and she took several steps backward. “Lynx.” She said nothing else, just stared off toward the west.

“Great. Lynx’s thoughtlessness is making Char useless as hell.” James snarled.

Chance pointed to the door. “Hall. Now.”

James didn’t have to be told twice. He barely made it to the hall before his fist connected with the metal wall with a resounding tone that half-deafened him. “As stupid as I think Elan is—at least she took action! Nobody else is doing a damn thing.”

Chance showed no reaction to the outburst beyond a quirked brow. “That’s two broken hands today. At least yours will heal faster than Danny’s.”

“Stop trying to be clever, you’re not mom.” James dug his fingers into his hair, ignoring the pain from his hand. “Sorry, Chief.”

“Getting tired of apologizing to me yet?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’m damn tired of needing to hear it.” Chance’s hand landed on James’ shoulder with a firm grip. “I am your chief. I’ve always had faith that you could get past this wall you’ve deemed exists. You’re the one struggling with it.”

“I know what I was programmed to be.”

“Then why do you care about Annie? Why do you love your mother? Your father? Why do you protect your sister even when you’re being a jerk to her?” Chance sighed. “You’re as stubborn as your mother always was. She actually thought she didn’t know DNA once. It took Roark beating her over the head a few times for her to get the picture.”

“Yeah. I’ve heard the story.” James sighed and turned to lean his back against the wall. “About a million times. Doesn’t mean I’m not what I was created to be.”

“You were created to be a strong center for your family—to be everything your mother imagined her children to be. Do you really think Talisa would ever do anything exactly as ordered? That anyone, even Steele, could bully her into making you nothing more than a killing machine with no real heart?”

“Mom never did anything as ordered, she hates being ordered around.” James glanced up when the door opened. When Charlotte emerged, her skin almost green, he frowned. “Char. What is it?”

“I’m not sure.” Charlotte’s blue eyes were still wide. “Can you handle the lab for a little while? I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Charlotte?” Chance wrapped an arm around her shoulder and kissed her temple. “Anything I can help you with?”

“I’ll be okay. Lynx isn’t blocking as well as usual, or I’m not. I don’t know.” She gave Chance a strong hug. “I’m okay, Popsicle, I promise. It’s been a crazy couple of days and I think I just need to get my head on straight again.”

“You aren’t the only one.” Chance smiled. “Go take some time and get your head together. You can’t work twenty-four-seven. Not even Tal can do that. Then you can come back refreshed and ready to work.”

Before she took off, Char barreled into James. He grunted, but held her close in a hug. “Easy Shorty.”

“Let yourself care before you explode.”

James sighed. That was the problem, wasn’t it? He couldn’t. The girl had kissed him, and then proceeded to collapse. She was going to die, so what good would caring do?” He kissed the top of Charlottes head. “Go on, Shorty. I’ve got work to do.” He pushed her off him and then down the corridor.

Chance smirked. “If she was feeling better she might have smacked you harder. She wants you to be happy, James.”

“Well maybe if someone came up with a way to save that girl so Abby and Warren could live without suffering like the rest of us.”

“If you want to claim it’s for Abby and Warren, fine. Just keep something in mind, James.”

“What?”

“Your demeanor changes around Annie.” Chance met his gaze levelly. “Just think about that while you’re working on her. It’s not a bad thing to care. I promise.”

“We’ll see.”

*~*

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Sunday Snippets 51 – Masked Hearts


Welcome back to the Weekend Writing Warriors!

MaskedHearts_MED

I’m back with my travelling wild west show story, Masked Hearts.

I’m jumping ahead a ways because I will be moving on from Masked Hearts soon. Roy and Minnie have grown closer, and Minnie has even allowed herself to get to know the Cheyenne. The more she lets go of her past, the more it returns to haunt her.

Knowing what Rawlins has in store for her, she has asked Roy for one kindness before she’s sold to a whorehouse. Before Roy lets himself sleep with her, he has a confession to make about his unintentional (and forced) role in her, and his own, past. Minnie is shocked at first, but then:

“I don’t hate you. I have tried to blame you, but I cannot. You were no more an adult than I was. You can’t help what they did to you.”

“But you were right. I am why your family…”

She pressed her fingers to his lips, “The Army is why my family is gone. You didn’t kill my father, my brothers, or rape my mother.”

 

*Tiny bit of creative editing was used to get the 8

*~*

If you want more of these wonderfully damaged pair…pick up a copy!

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Minnie Woodward lives a lie. After barely surviving the Bear River Massacre she’s lived in the white world of her guardian Mister Rawlins, her life debt keeping her tied there. The last thing she needs is Roy’s attempts to gain her favor. Her fate’s sealed. She’s never believed in hope, and not even Roy can make her start.

Roy Ornum saves Minnie every night in the traveling Wild West show. The job he took to break his gambling habit brought him a new addiction – her. He knows she doesn’t want to be rescued, but maybe he does. She’s the key to a past he lost, one he wants to find again.

As the two grow closer old wounds are reopened and their burgeoning trust is shattered. When lives hang in the balance of their choices they’ll need to work together. Otherwise everything will be lost before hope can be found.

*~*

Head back on over to the Weekend Writing Warriors to read many more wonderful offerings!

The Atlantean Birthright by Toya Richardson

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Freya Anders is ready to kill Dieter Yong and nothing is going to stop her, because ten years ago he callously murdered her parents. She is immortal; a descendant from Atlantis with precious gifts. It was her powers the Atlanteans were after that fateful night.

Allowing her grief and rage to consume her, she falls into a trap set by Dieter. When sexy, charismatic, Armand De Silva comes to her rescue, she is livid. Is her fury because Dieter survived, or because of the way she’s drawn to this stunning Atlantean?

When their slow burning desire for each other reaches boiling point, they must decide whether they have the strength to deal with their emotions and trust again. As Dieter launches his plan for revenge, can Freya find the courage to rescue Armand from certain death?

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Although writing has been a big part of life for many years, it’s since 2009 that I’ve completed most of my work. Starting off with a romance/thriller, then fantasy and my most recent work, which is paranormal romance.

I grew up in Essex, but now reside in Suffolk – with my husband, grown up son and Masai the cat – where I work part time as an admin assistant. My other hobbies and interests include; reading, Formula One racing, darts, listening to music – mainly rock – cinema, live concerts, going to the theatre, keeping fit, gardening and holidays.







Love Found in California by Melissa Rolka

Melissa_Rolka_-_Love_Foundin_California_cover[1]



This is a stand alone novella that is part of
The Washington Triplet Novella’s:

The Quiet One

Mikaela Washington, the middle Triplet, has always been labeled the quiet
one. Her parents claim her as the introvert or just shy. Of course she was,
what other role could she take? All the others had been fulfilled.

Going away to college with her sisters was always the plan until unforeseen
circumstances push Mikaela into a dark corner she can’t get out of. Her
sisters think she’s just being more unusual than normal and her dad barely
notices. The only person she can trust and confide in is her mom.

She stays back and lives at home with her parents. These years are
difficult, but she manages to find a career and go to therapy. During this
time she learns her family home is not what it seems. She sees and hears
things that her sisters know nothing about. Then when her mom suddenly dies
she’s left to deal with not only her tragedy, but also the secrets of her
family.

Finally Mikaela realizes it’s time… time to move on, live on her own like
her sisters and try to start new. When she moves to California she finds
the job of her dreams and the man of her dreams attached to it… Ryan
Chambers.

To read more about the Washington Triplet’s check out Love Discovered in
New York and Love Grows in Alaska.

 

(ENTER BUY LINKS HERE)

Melissa Rolka grew up in
the Chicagoland area all of her childhood and has always had a love of
writing. She started by keeping a journal at a young age and then in high
school she started writing poetry. A couple poems were published
anonymously. Then in college she majored in Philosophy, which required lots
and lots of writing. After graduating from Marquette University she
traveled west to Los Angeles. There she worked for the Writers Guild of
America and found herself submerged in the writers world. She worked on
small writings, but never pursued them. On the side she became involved
with a small theater group. Eventually she made her way back to the
Midwest, where her heart belongs, and worked in business for several years.
She found love, got married and has two beautiful children. Being at home
has allowed her to keep following her love of reading and writing. When
Melissa is not writing she is caring for, playing with and loving her two
kids. In between taking care of her family and writing she almost always
has her nose buried in her Kindle.

 



 

Connect with Melissa:

  

Amazon Authors Page:

<http://www.amazon.com/Melissa-Rolka/e/B00FP6QKYE/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1390391017&sr=1-2-ent> 

 

 

 

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Division Zero: Lex De Mortuis, by Matthew Cox

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Division Zero: Lex De Mortuis, by Matthew Cox

Genre: Cyberpunk, Mystery & Detective, Paranormal, Science Fiction

Publisher: Curiosity Quills Press

Date of Publication: September 8, 2014

Cover Artist: Alexandria Thompson at Gothic Fate (http://gothicfate.com/)

 

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Description: 

Some soldiers don’t let anything sway them from their mission, not even death from high explosives.

Free from her troubled past, Agent Kirsten Wren finds happiness mentoring Evan, a boy with similar talents with whom she soon forms a strong bond. Her efforts to help Dorian settle his past become complicated when a team of corporate “issue resolution consultants” continue their mission to kill a man in the afterlife.

Kirsten gets involved when their postmortem grudge match spills into the realm of the living. At the scene of a surgical explosion that gutted only one floor of a residential tower, she discovers a strange arcane circle drawn in silver. There, she senses energy darker than any wraith she has yet encountered; a force that questions everything she believes about the world.

Vikram Medhi, the hacker targeted by Lyris Corporation for elimination, begs her to protect him from undead out to destroy him. With no way to track these spirits, she seeks help from an enigmatic billionaire who offers her more than a simple translation of ancient Sumerian pictographs.

Chasing down a dangerous psionic criminal in the oldest lawless zone in the city, trying to protect a man on a corporate death list, and trying to keep both of them from hurting the one person in the world she loves, Kirsten must reach deep within herself to accept her destiny.

MCox_02_Light_1000About Matthew Cox:

Born in a little town known as South Amboy NJ in 1973, Matthew has been creating science fiction and fantasy worlds for most of his reasoning life. Somewhere between fifteen to eighteen of them spent developing the world in which Division Zero, Virtual Immortality, and The Awakened Series take place. He has several other projects in the works as well as a collaborative science fiction endeavor with author Tony Healey.

Hobbies and Interests: Matthew is an avid gamer, a recovered WoW addict, Gamemaster for two custom systems (Chronicles of Eldrinaath [Fantasy] and Divergent Fates [Sci Fi], and a fan of anime, British humour (<- deliberate), and intellectual science fiction that questions the nature of reality, life, and what happens after it. He is also fond of cats.

Find Matthew Cox Online:

Website | Facebook  | Twitter  | Goodreads

 

Lex Excerpt1 – Chapter 1

As the woman assured Maia she was not in trouble, Kirsten hopped out of the van and nudged the doors closed to keep it warm inside. By the time she had walked halfway up the path to the front door, the entire house seemed to be breathing, and felt as if it stared right through her soul. Kirsten frowned and held her armband terminal up. Shimmering holographic light formed a square panel in midair above it. Her finger swiped through police records. Over the past hundred years, this property was associated with a large number of domestic violence calls and noise complaints, but no major crimes. Kirsten switched to municipal records, finding the a real estate notice almost once every two years, well below market, and had gone long stints being empty.

“Whoever it was is old. Possibly prewar.”

Dorian rubbed a finger over his mouth. “Think it’s some old crotchety bastard with a problem with nonwhites?”

Kirsten blinked. “A racist, seriously? That would make him over three hun”―she shivered―“I don’t want to think about it. Besides, according to what I’m reading here, the manifestation didn’t get along with anyone who lived here.”

Dorian edged closer to the door. “It concerns me the mother didn’t notice.”

Kirsten let her arm fall; the screen folded in on itself and vanished. “It wants her here, probably intended to get into her head and make her…”

“You don’t have to say it.” Dorian simulated a deep breath.

With the image of Maia’s delicate face and sad eyes fixed in her mind, Kirsten stomped over and shoved the door aside. The walls in the living room seethed with black flames, lapping at the ceiling and making the space feel many times colder. She glanced around; a powerful sense of evil soaked through the drywall, water after a flood. Whispers came from beneath the floor, dread from above.

Dorian moved through a dining room area to the kitchen. Kirsten followed. Ethereal vapor spewed from spectral holes around the walls; she brushed her fingers over one, feeling smooth repair.

She teased at the threads of vapor. “Bullets hit the wall here, after killing someone.”

He pointed at a flimsy white door. “Sounds like they’re still down there.”

Her hand clasped the icy, ancient doorknob. Kirsten cringed at the contact, twisting and pushing. Wooden stairs led into the basement, darkness wavering with ghostly light from an unseen source.

“This house is old. Well, at least I know how the woman got it for only four hundred grand.”

“Yeah.” Dorian touched the wall. “Everything else around here is about a million; the cost would be four times that if they extended the wall this far north.”

Kirsten shut her eyes, concentrating. When she opened them, they glowed white. Color had drained out of the world, replaced by a shifting greyscale environment where spectral copies of surfaces and objects wavered and flowed over reality. Division 0 called it Darksight, the power of astral seeing. By opening her perception to the spirit realm, she illuminated the real world with its ethereal shadow. The strongest sense of energy came from the back. She went toward it, following boot prints of blood that existed only on the other side. The trail led into the kitchen.

Dorian pointed at a small doorway in the corner by the pantry. “Basement.”

In the astral, blood and handprints smeared the bare cinderblock walls along the stairway. Kirsten descended into the damp, musty confines of a frozen basement. The unpainted concrete at the bottom rippled with a massive pool of blood. A man in a black windbreaker, emblazoned with DEA in large yellow letters, stood at the bottom with his back to her. The center of the E had a golf-ball-sized hole in it. Beyond him, a dozen Hispanic men writhed on the ground by the far wall. Hands bound behind their backs with plastic zip-ties, each had a bullet wound in the head.

In various degrees of coherence, they protested in Spanish about how they were not informants.

“Well, I can take a guess what our wraith did for a living.” Dorian chuckled.

Kirsten muttered, “Okay, so it’s not a racist old bastard, just a four-hundred-year-old criminal.”