Brian Kaufman made the decision to become a full-time writer at the age of twelve. Nearly three decades later, he published his first poem. The slow road to publication was littered with hazards, including a disastrous first marriage, two failed businesses and a bankruptcy. When his first novel failed to find a publisher, Brian went back to college, graduating from Colorado State University in 1999 with a bachelor’s degree in Literature and Creative Writing. He continued to collect rejections – more than a hundred  – when Last Knight Publishing agreed to print his historical novel,  The Breach (2002). His change-of-pace second novel,  The Apocalypse Parable (2006), was a philosophical thriller. Brian now writes college textbooks full-time for Weston Distance Learning, starting with  Marketing Principles (2007). His second text, Introduction to Financial Services, will be published in the fall of 2009. Brian also cooks part time and writes horror fiction, which he hastens to add, is not a genre choice that reflects his work schedule. This is what he wanted.

For more about Brian and The Breach and The Apocalypse Parable, visit http://brianckaufman.wordpress.com/

Read an excerpt from The Apocalypse Parable:

The old man sat up a little, held back by wires and tubes that pinned him to the bed like a shriveled Gulliver. “Ninety-five hundred dollars,” he said. “That’s more than your usual retainer, isn’t it?”
Daniel nodded, staring at the check on the nightstand, wondering how high the check would bounce if it slipped out from under the prescription bottle and hit the floor. He needed the money. The car insurance was about to lapse and the rent had emptied his checking account. But if the check was bad, what good would it do? And if the check was good, the job would be bad.
“When you finish the assignment, I’ll pay you the balance,” the old man croaked. “One hundred thousand dollars. You probably don’t make that much in three years.”
The tick of the machine beside the bed marked the silence. Daniel closed his eyes and chewed the inside of his cheek. The air in the old man’s office was stiff with the odor of disinfectant and alcohol. Mordecai Ryan rustled under the covers, dry skin sliding around on crisp sheets. “I’m not sure what you have in mind,” Daniel said at last. “I’m a skip-tracer. I find people that are hiding from creditors.”
“And I want you to find someone,” the old man said.
“I’m not a hit man.”
Ryan drew back, sending shivers along the wires taped to his arms and face. He opened his mouth, papery lips pulled back, a tiny wet tongue pushing against his teeth. He was laughing.  “I don’t want you to kill anybody, Mr. Bain.”
“Ninety-five hundred dollars is a lot of money. Who do you want me to find?”
“A hundred thousand dollars,” he corrected. “The ninety-five hundred is a retainer, meant to convince you of my sincerity. You seem indifferent, Mr. Bain.”
“I’m not a demonstrative person.”
“Take the check to the bank and cash it. Perhaps you’ll discover your enthusiasm when you have cash money in your hand.”
Daniel shook his head. “We haven’t discussed the details of the job. Who is it you want me to find?”
“The retainer is yours whether you succeed or fail,” the old man said. “All you need do is make a good faith effort, and I’ll be satisfied. You have a fine reputation for integrity.”
“I haven’t given you any references,” Daniel said. “I do most of my work for finance companies, and I wouldn’t value their moral judgment.” He glanced at the check again. “Is there some reason you don’t want to tell me who you want me to find?”
The old man smiled again. His moist eyes narrowed. “I’m wondering if you’ll take the check, or if you’ll leave.” The square bandage on his cheek had a tiny brown blood stain in the middle of it. He slipped a hand out from under the sheets, and tapped his chin with a pointed finger. “I think you’re curious. I think you could use the money. And I think you’re wondering if I’ve lost my mind. Old people have diminished capacities, or so I’m told.”
“Jimmy Hoffa’s corpse is buried inside a support beam in the Jersey Giant’s football stadium,” Daniel said. “They’ll never find him. Who else is worth a hundred thousand?”
The laugh came again in a sudden rush, followed by a wheeze and the shaking of wires. “You’re a very funny man, Mr. Bain. I like you, I really do. I won’t play with you any more.  I want you to find Jesus Christ.”

© Brian Kaufman 2006