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This page last updated March 23, 2006

Pat Elrod's blog! 

 http://www.livejournal.com/users/p_n_elrod/

Take the test: "Which Vampire Files character are you?"

http://quizfarm.com/test.php?q_id=127755&first=yes

(Sometimes this link works, sometime it doesn't)

SNEAK PREVIEW OF THE 2006 COVERS....!

(No release date yet-just keep checking back!)

AVAILABLE OCT. 3, 2006--PREORDER ON AMAZON!!!

  WWW.BlackstoneAudio.com has done it:

An UNABRIDGED eight and a half hour audiobook of BLOODLIST! 

Read by award-winning voice artist Barrett Whitener

http://www.blackstoneaudio.com/audiobook.cfm?ID=3471 

Pat sez:  "I am absolutely over the moon on this!  Mr. Whitener did a WONDERFUL job on it, and I love the care they took on the cover art.  Right now, though, I'm so excited I can hardly sit still long enough to listen to more than a few minutes at a time.  I've not been this thrilled since hearing Roddy McDowell reading I, Strahd!  Blackstone Audio--ya done good!  Thank you!!!"

The book is in a 7-CD set, and there is a tape and MP3 version available for a lower price.  You may also RENT a copy!

If you would like your library to order a copy, just put in a request with your local librarian.

  From the cover: Jack's trunk!

           Just released!

    THE NAME OF THE GAME  

           an all-new MYHR ADVENTURE in: 

      "All Hell Breaking Loose" from DAW.

Myhr agrees to go to a "hell con" with his sexy (is there any other kind?) succubus girl friend and runs into a demon with a terrible exorcist problem!

The name of the game could be MYHR-der! 

NEW SHORT STORY!!!  

OCTOBER 2005 --  Moonstone Books presents 

KOLCHAK: 

THE NIGHT STALKER CHRONICLES!

    All new stories featuring Carl Kolchak by the top writers in the business!

 http://www.moonstonebooks.com/kolchak.asp

The premise is the same as Classic Kolchak,
   set in modern-day Los Angeles!

Excerpt:                 

The Why of the Matter

by P.N. Elrod

            My new interest was a certain Harvey Wayne Pimco, a career criminal connected with the mobs who had somehow convinced a parole board that he would go forth and sin no more.  Toward that end he had accepted Jesus as his savior to the point of acquiring a very impressive larger than life prison-tattoo portrait of his favored messiah decorating the whole of Harvey’s massive chest.  His mother, if he ever knew her name, might have been proud.
            I found Harvey in a dive in one of the least fashionable areas of L.A. showing off the skin art to several awe-struck and slightly drunk hookers.  Perhaps he was hoping to convert them, but it didn’t seem likely.  The art appreciation seminar came to an abrupt end the instant Harvey spotted me.
            “Kolchak!  You son of a bitch!”  he roared.
             Certain old friends have used that term as a form of fond greeting to me, but my reporter’s sharp instinct told me his outburst was outside that category.  Maybe I should have waited until he was too drunk to know me, but I had deadlines to meet.  Mr. Pimco demonstrated he was in no mood to renew our acquaintanceship by smashing the neck off his beer bottle and lunging over the table at me, scattering screaming hookers to the four corners.  He’d consumed enough brewskis to throw off his aim, landing on his face.  As he rolled amid the refuse of bottles and cigarette butts I snapped several clear slice-of-life shots that would soon be e-mailed to his parole officer, with a date and time stamp on each.
           Then I got the hell out of there.
           I shot through the door, jumped into my double-parked Mustang, and turned the key, intent on zooming away into the night.  But alas, my otherwise faithful steed cranked, whirred, and whined, but ultimately refused to catch and turn over.
           Damn.
          With the illogic that sometimes seizes those who’ve grown too dependent on technology I remained in place, trying the key, stamping on the gas and talking, pleading, praying, cursing to my car to start for God’s sake! 
          Had I been more sensible I’d have abandoned the machine and loped away on foot, for even a lame tortoise could have outrun Harvey Wayne Pimco in his cups.
           Instead, I stuck it out while Harvey emerged from the dive, zeroed in on me, and came trundling around to the driver’s side. The motor ground to life, but too late.  Two massive vises clamped down hard in a death-grip on my shoulders, and I was bodily lifted from my convertible.  The vises proved to be Harvey’s hands.  He shook me out like a housewife snapping a tablecloth on laundry day, then spun me around.
           My, what bad teeth you have, I thought, as he grinned down at me.  There was murder in his eye.  I was about to become a dead man.
          He drew back one killer fist, and I was absolutely certain that would be my last view of earth before the angels carried me away.  However, I was equally certain that there would be no beer in heaven, and got my camera up in time to set the flash off in his face.
           It worked.  Harvey’s punch went wide, he dropped me, and I hammered my feet against the pavement to gain distance, jeering at him to come after me.  The general plan was to circle wide with him in slow drunken pursuit, then I’d beeline for my car and escape.
          But hanging out in the wrong place with the wrong people weren’t the only violations of parole that he’d committed.  I glanced back to check his progress—he was building up some speed after all—and to my dismay saw Harvey had also acquired a sizable revolver. (So much for the five-day waiting period.) He pointed it right at me.
          I’d taught myself to always be a moving target, but this time it might not work.  The bastard was too damned close.
          Then I hit something.  Ran right into it.  Wham.  Full stop and fall.  The breath went out of me, and the next thing I knew Harvey had the muzzle of his gun up my nose.  He was puffing hard, small eyes blazing, a very happy maniac.
           The man was a stone killer.
           And I knew I was dead.

To be continued!  

Advance order from http://www.moonstonebooks.com/kolchak.asp

320pgs of text w/ spot illustrations, 6” x 9”, $18.95  cover: Doug Klauba   ISBN: 1-933076-04-6

or www.amazon.com

Pat sez:   "I was somewhat freaked to get an invite to trib to this collection, as Kolchak is a very special hero to me.  It's no whim or accident that Jack Fleming began as a reporter, so this was like one of those Full Circle Things.  

            Strangely, about a week after saying YES!!, I got another invitation to trib a non-fiction piece to another anthology.  I was to write about a favorite book for it.

            My first choice was The Night Stalker by Jeff Rice.

           I'm still grinning."