What could possibly go wrong?

Prelude to a Hero is book one in the Chronicles of a Hero series, by Jaime Buckley. If you enjoyed Tiffany Aching, Harry Potter or Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, then you’ll love this humorous, original epic fantasy, packed with magic, mystery and sharp kicks to the funny bone.

“I’m already a HUGE fan of fantasy fiction, this book appealed to me as I felt it would be something new and unique… I wasn’t left disappointed!”

It wouldn’t be so bad if Wendell had professionals to help him.

Instead, he’s stuck with a feisty gnome, a senile old wizard and a green skinned, cigar-smoking babysitter to guide him.

Is it too late to quit?

Fans of epic fantasy will cheer Wendell on as the Chronicles of a Hero series continues in book two. Those who enjoy the world building skills of J.R.R. Tolkien, J.K. Rowling and Brandon Sanderson will surely get addicted to this original new world.

Feed your fantasy needs and grab your copy today!

“I have not laughed so hard in a long time. I don’t KNOW how long it’s been. Just when the tension is about to make my heart pop, Chuck or Dax or a situation will pop up and make you laugh.”

Add to that no map, no help and no flippin’ idea where he is and you have a day in the life of our hero.

Oh wait—we forgot to add the army of cannibals now nipping at his heels.

It just might be the death of him.

Elemental magic and nail-biting action are what you can expect in book three of Chronicles of a Hero. Fans of Dragonlance and The Hobbit will love this new addition to the series.

Don’t wait to grab your copy—buy one today!

“I think this book will be well-liked by those who like Harry Potter, but I think it goes to a new level where those who didn’t like Harry Potter can still love this book!”

(It’s the cheesy goatee, isn’t it.)

Jaime Buckley married young, winning the heart of a beautiful Samoan princess and together, they had 12 amazing children.

The High Elder, still standing in the near center of the room, bowed, keeping his hand
outstretched before him. “Dämä Omä, my brother,” he said softly, “I come with He who was
spoken of. We seek permission to enter.”
Squinting, Wendell couldn’t see anything. What is he doing….and WHO IS HE TALKING
TO?? Even in the glow of the High Elder’s staff, there was no one there!
Trouble was, Wendell could hear someone move.
…or something.
Whatever it was, it lurked in the shadows.
Wendell suddenly felt grateful the old man was in front of him. He resolved to not feel bad if
he had to leave his imaginary host in the dust to be eaten by the unknown to save his own skin.
Another growl.
Blast it! Gotta adjust to this blasted darkness! Closing his eyes, Wendell silently counted to five,
then slowly opened them once more. The light from the staff burned brighter, the shadows
fading somewhat, until he could make out the walls around him. There, now we can…
Then he saw it.
Well, sort of.
A warped shadow, swaying…just inside the tunnel.
For a moment, he wasn’t sure what he was looking at. In fact, Wendell wasn’t even sure he
was looking at anything—but there was a flicker. Focusing on a single spot within the darkness,
Wendell would catch a sudden blur of movement in his peripheral vision, but it would vanish as
soon as he tried to focus on it.
Again, there was a deep rumbling, as if from within the chest of…something huge.
Something close.
“Hold perfectly still,” warned the High Elder intensely, the softer, “Keep your head bowed.”
What is going on?! The self preservation personality whispered inside his head. How stupid
ARE you, Wendell? Run, you idiot. RUN! Leave this old loon behind and RUN AWAY!! But the
weighty apprehension of uncertainty glued Wendell’s shoes to the ground. Maybe I’m safer
behind the elder? If something tries to get me, I can always shove the old guy into my escape
path before I make a run for it. Pause. Not…like I can be guilty of murder in a dream, right?
Something in his gut compelled him to obey the High Elder.
This time.
Moving through the dust in front of them, a chilling scrape across the stone caused Wendell
to raise his eyes…just in time to see a massive paw mark, bigger than the whole of his chest,
press through the grey layer of dust.
…then another.
Only closer.
Wendell suddenly had a desperate need to pee.
The prints stopped directly in front of the High Elder, who then calmly…stepped aside.
Oh, no, you don’t!
Without lifting his head, Wendell slid one foot over and then another until he was behind
the High Elder again.
Wendell felt the rumble from the floor through his feet, causing his legs to quiver.
Surprised, the High Elder hissed, “What are you doing!?”
“It’s my dream,” Wendell hissed back, “and you’re expendable!”
The High Elder shifted once more.
Wendell followed suit—keeping the blue man as a meat shield in front of him.
The low growl seemed a little sharper, almost impatient, this time.
“Stop it!” the High Elder nearly shrieked. “You’ll anger him!”
Wendell shook his head, “Then stop moving!”
In one stunning motion, the High Elder spun, positioning himself directly behind Wendell
and pushing him forward, holding him firmly by the shoulders.
“Hey!…HEY!!” squeaked Wendell, struggling.

“Stay there!” the High Elder warned.
Wendell’s entire body convulsed in spasms as he heard…something coming closer. Why
doesn’t anybody around here LIKE me?
Scccraaaape. Scccraaaape. Scccraaaape. Scccraaaape.
Wendell could see another paw print appear just inches from his own shoes. Though he felt
like whimpering, he bit his own lip and simply trembled.
Like the sound of a dog sniffing an open hand, intermittent bursts of humid air hit Wendell
in the chest—leaving his hair and face feeling damp. Gritting his teeth, he turned his head to the
side, clenching his eyes tight and curling his toes within his shoes.
Please don’t eat me. Please don’t eat me. Please don’t eat me! AhhAHHHahhhh.
As he was being ‘sniffed’ it occurred to him that spending time with Dax might not be too
frightening at this point.
With a mild bump…which nearly knocked Wendell over…the huge prints retreated in the
dust.
Wendell gulped. Is…that it? He opened his eyes, watching the prints appear to the side of the
tunnel, where several small hanging oil lamps, dangling down its center, flickered to life.
See? That wasn’t so bad after all. I knew I could do it.
“Thank you, brother,” the High Elder smiled. “You have honored your covenant. We will keep
our end of the agreement. May peace reign with you until your path ends.”
Erupting in a deafening roar, the Key exploded with dust and cobwebs.
“What’s happening?!?” Wendell screamed, stumbling backwards against the wall.
The High Elder dashed to his side, raising an arm to shield his own face. “Prepare yourself!”

The Idea behind the Hero
I love getting questions, especially fan mail about WANTED:HERO the comic book…particularly
from children.
What seems to stump them (the children) is why write a story about a guy who can’t really do
anything?
Why Wendell P. Dipmier??
There is a great deal more to Wendell than meets the eye.
Not only am I referring to the storyline of the comic book, but in my thoughts and development
of the character. The ideas behind Wendell stem from many instances from my own personal
experiences. Situations Wendell finds himself in shadow similar situations I had to solve as a
youth.
Not that I had talking diamonds impaling themselves into my chest or that I was transported to
distant planets on the far reaches of the known Universe.
As a youth, I was the target of jokes and brutality, as many children are in school.
On the other hand, I was one of those rare few (at the time anyway) that the so-called ‘bullies’ of
the day would practice on ‘just because I was there’. That was what I was told many Friday
afternoons, when the recess guard would walk out of site, when I would walk home and was out
of view of the school, or even when the teacher left to talk with another student.
I was a target.
My personal experiences ranged from being hit and kicked, to being beaten with books, bags,
pipes, sticks, tree branches, bottles, chains, rocks and even the concrete itself (being thrown).
Now that would seem horrible enough, but I was chased and caught at least once a week and I
can count on a single hand how many times I ever faced a solo opponent.
At my age and with an extra 35+ years under my belt, that’s highly unlikely to happen again.
However, my point here is that I have had a great amount of experience with bullies.
I hate them.
I stand up to them.
I oppose them.
Wendell is a reflexion of the development I went through as I grew up and how I dealt with
people who sought to harm others for the sheer pleasure in doing so. Wendell was developed
as I was struggling to overcome specific mental limitations in my own life and in dealing with

violence and violent people.
What people don’t realize when they are faced with the possibility of having to defend
themselves, is that they don’t have to be ‘the very best’ to do it.
In fact, you don’t even have to be GOOD at defending yourself to defend yourself.
You just have to be good enough…and that is something we can all do.
There will always be someone faster, stronger, bigger and more experienced than yourself–but
you can always do something.
Always.
Even when the odds are against you, there is always something for you to do…even if that is
nothing more than waiting to see what life brings you on a silver platter to use.
That is Wendell P. Dipmier in a nutshell.
Stop by WantedHero.com and start reading Chronicles of a Hero.
You might enjoy yourself.
A lot.

Enter Tony McCormick, a detective with the right kind of attitude and Chrissy’s sort of ex-boyfriend. When he’s called to Chrissy’s apartment, he’s prepared for the worst. He’s a homicide detective after all. When he arrives, it seems that someone might have forgotten to check to see if Chrissy was still alive… now it’s everything he can do to find the man who did this and the other behind it all before it’s really too late.

When Ally finds her world tipped on its axis, Yale goes against his better judgment and offers her some unlikely help. He knows better than most that the road to hell is paved with good intentions, but in this particular case, could it be the opposite? Could Allison Blaylock be the start down the road to his salvation?

Out of the ashes, an unlikely friendship is formed. Backdraft and Lilli could find themselves rising if only they can get past their hurts and give things a chance. Of course, lasting happiness is no guarantee, no matter how much they might burn for each other. After all, sometimes what was doesn’t want to let go. 

It’s a pressure cooker waiting to blow and it turns out the new roomie has moxie, which gets Golden to thinking, which leads to him feeling. This is either going to be a really good or a really bad idea. 

How will he get through this, through to her, and keep them both alive?

I heard Tony’s jacket hit the back of the chair he usually hung it on, and those heavy footfalls come my

way, his shadow looming over me at the sink. He started to move my hair aside and I turned, whirling on
my sneaker and backed up against the counter.
“Don’t… please?”
His blue eyes penetrated mine and he nodded carefully, leaning in none the less to kiss me. My eyes
fluttered shut as his mouth moved carefully over mine. I kissed him back, and it was just as magical and
as beautiful as the kiss the day before. I blindly set my glass aside on the counter and went to reach for
him, but dammit, I’d misjudged and it slipped off the counter’s edge and shattered on the floor.
The crash of breaking glass made me jump and cry out, and I stuffed my hand against my mouth and
squeezed my eyes shut. Cringing from my memories.
“It’s okay; it’s totally okay…” he murmured soothingly and smoothed some of my hair out of the way of
my face so he could see me. “It’s just water and just glass, I’ve got it… no big deal.” He gently moved
me the opposite direction of the mess around the kitchen island and said, “Go grab a stool, sit down.”
I swallowed hard, on the verge of tears, my heart racing, pulse jumping painfully out of the side of my
neck, chest crushed as I struggled to breathe normally, in through my nose hold for a few seconds, and
out.
The first panic attack had happened in the hospital, Pasquale had recognized it instantly and had helped
me through some exercises. I knew what they were now. I am in control. I told myself. Tony went about
cleaning up, letting me have some space and by the time he was done, I felt better. Still rattled, but better.
“You alright?” he asked, and I nodded.
I knew in the front of my mind that it didn’t matter, that Tony was the last person who would judge, that
any number of medical personnel had seen the scars, but for some irrational reason, Tony was different.
He wasn’t someone I wanted to see the ugliness… He just… wasn’t.
He came around to me and I twisted in my seat to face him, looking up at him and biting my bottom lip.
He looked like he was going to give me a pep talk but the words died on his lips. He searched my face
and stepped in close, between my knees and lowered his face to mine. I closed my eyes, and let him kiss
me, kissing him back and sighing out with relief. I wanted so badly to feel something good and Tony’s
kiss was like heaven.
His hands smoothed over my hips and up to my ribs and he gathered the hem of my fitted workout tank
with his fingers, slipping his hand underneath and putting it against my skin. My desire for him shot
through the roof at the same time my anxiety rose. I broke the kiss and pulled back and said breathlessly,
“I can’t… my scars.”
He growled low and intense and said, “Baby, you’re gonna be on your back; no way I’m even going to
see your scars.”

Dear Beach,
Warm sand scrunching between your toes… cool white foam lined waves crashing on the current… hot

Vitamin-
D rays beaming down from a clear blue universe… floating sphere of fire setting as a glowing luminosity

rises… crackling pit of flames sparking into the darkness while genuine conversations fill the breeze over
cold
coronas…
We all need that one place where we can truly unwind and unplug from the daily madness that adds to
our
everlasting insomnia. A place where every worry, fear, doubt and concern slips into a coma. A place
where
technology isn’t allowed to be super-glued to our hands and eyes.
We all need that unscheduled time where the only responsibilities to be accounted for are laughter from
inside jokes amongst family and friends… creating memories to add to our lanes… one too many over
stuffed s’mores being inhaled… walks along the waves indulging in the beautiful scenery of endless
ocean… becoming mesmerized by the faceted ombre sunset painted on Mother Nature’s canvas…
What I just described to you is my sanctuary. Dull or boring are never scheduled on my calendar, but
days of
escaping are. Beach… this one syllable word is my morphine that numbs the chaos of the constant
insanity
that my mind is shifted into. I have no worries when sand and ocean are in the presence of my eyes. I
feel like
myself instead of the version that’s expected. This is the one place where I can just be.

Did you edit any part out of your book?
Almost…the letter written to my Nana was almost deleted. The relationship between her and I was a mixture of manipulation
and games, especially I grew older. Biting my tongue and acting as though I liked her when she became sick was the hardest
thing I’ve ever done in my life. So much anger and unanswered questions rose when she passed, so many people coming up to
me at her funeral telling me that she always talked about how proud of me she was…words that stung like heel in the most
confusing way. I only felt as though I was nothing but a chess piece and disappointment to her. That letter had to be written, I
needed to let everything out, I needed to heal. So, Nana made it into the book.

If you could tell your younger writer’s self anything, what would it be?
I’d tell myself that what you write about needs to be your own, don’t write what you think others want to read. Write what
makes you tick, what makes you smile, what makes you cry and even what makes you swear. Some of the best pieces start
with the “wtf” thoughts. Remain genuine with your words, never write unpassionately because that will read evidently. Push
boundaries and challenge the “normal”. Lastly and most importantly, keep writing, never stop.

Be original or deliver what the audience wants?
Let’s face it, you’ll never 100% deliver what the audience wants because the spectrum of tastes and opinions is too wide.
Always be original, place your twist on the world and deliver a new perspective into the reader’s mindset. Be you boo because
being a copy never works.

The music’s volume lowered and knocking echoed through the speakers. The words
“Someone’s Knocking” appeared next to the door graphic. Kimberly closed her blog window
and moved her avatar to the peephole.
Another dialogue box appeared, inside which Kimberly typed: Who’s there?
The peephole widened and an avatar of a hooded figure appeared. A dialogue box popped up
next to the avatar, and inside the box appeared the screen name IWNTUDED.
Kimberly typed: Do I know you?
IWNTUDED responded: Yes. But not the way u think u do.
“Seriously, this is so not the time for this,” Kimberly muttered to herself. She typed: Doug, is
that you? Look, I know you still love me, but it’s over. It’s nothing you did, it’s just that I’m
going through so many changes right now. She sighed. I’m sorry. Tell you what. I’ll give you
a weekend of goodbye sex when I get back, okay?
After a few uncomfortable moments passed, IWNTUDED responded: Sounds like fun, but
I’m not Doug.
“What the hell?” Kimberly whispered as the ambient light from the laptop’s screen eerily
illuminated her pretty face. She stared at the screen and typed: Who is this?
There was a long moment before IWNTUDED responded: The last person you’ll ever see.
“Okay, fuck this,” Kimberly blurted. She clicked the “KEEP OUT” icon next to Iwntuded’s
screen name, and the “LOCK DOOR” icon on the keyhole graphic.
“So long, creep.” She picked up the Starbucks cup sitting on her Abnormal Psychology
textbook, took a sip, spun her chair around, and reclined with her back to the computer.
While she sat there thinking how much easier life would be if it was this simple to get rid of
people in the real world, the word “Unlock” appeared on the door graphic, and the Iwntuded
avatar entered the room and approached the Kimber avatar.
Finished musing over the inherent advantages of Cybering, Kimberly turned back toward the
laptop screen and was dumbstruck when she saw Iwntuded’s avatar standing next to hers.
“What the hell?” She placed her Starbucks cup on the desk and then typed: How did you get
in here?
The Iwntuded avatar held up a key graphic, and then IWNTUDED typed: I have a key.
Kimberly’s heart skipped a beat. She sank down in her chair and wrapped her arms tightly
around herself.
Should I be scared of this creep? She shook her head. Of course not, this is just some acne
covered kid with nothing better to do on Datenight USA, or some overweight, balding pervert
who gets off on scaring the shit out of young girls.
He fear morphed to anger and she sat up straight in her chair. Look, jerkoff, she typed, the
Roommates website recorded your IP address when you logged on. So get out of here and
leave me the fuck alone before I report your perverted ass.
IWNTUDED replied: Okay. But first, will u do me a favor?
Kimberly typed: What?
May I have a sip of that coffee?
What the fuck?
Kimberly typed: What coffee?
After a few tension-filled moments, IWNTUDED replied: The Starbucks next to your
keyboard.

The words on her laptop screen leapt out at Kimberly as if they were in 3D. She glanced at the
Starbucks cup, after which she jumped to her feet and scanned nervously about her dimly lit
apartment.
Oh my God – someone’s here! But how did he get in? And where is he now – watching me?
Just as she reached for the phone to dial 911, Kimberly spotted the webcam atop her
computer’s monitor and a wave of relief washed over her. “You little hacker.”
She sat back down and yanked the USB cable from the webcam. “Show’s over, jerk wad.”
She smirked at her laptop screen and held her middle finger up to Iwntuded’s avatar.
That wasn’t very nice.
Kimberly replied: What – ending your little peep show?
IWNTUDED typed: No, giving me the finger.
Kimberly jumped to her feet. She glanced wildly around the room and then back at the
monitor. Fight or flight mode started setting in as she typed: Who are u and what the fuck do u
want?
I told u – I’m the last person you’ll ever see. As for what I want…
On the opposite side of the unlit apartment, a closet door quietly opened. A hooded figure
emerged holding a smartphone in one hand and a sixteen-inch hunting knife in the other. While
Kimberly sat staring at her computer screen, the figure typed on the smartphone’s keypad, and
the reply displayed on Kimberly’s laptop screen: It’s all in my name. What’s my name,
Kimberly?
Wide-eyed, her hands trembling, Kimberly typed: IWNTUDED.
IWNTUDED instantly replied: That’s what I want!
Kimberly studied her tormentor’s username with the urgency her situation demanded. Then,
in a dread-filled whisper, she read aloud, “I…want…you…dead.”