 | There’s something inherently classic about a story set in the Wild West. Guns slinging, spurs spinning, cowboy hats casting a shadow on the dusty ground. Maybe this is one of the reasons why Robin Elno’s Clown William series has been so successful. The first book, Clown William, was the Silver Winner of the 2018 IPPYs & Winner of the Arizona Literary Award, as well as a finalist for the 13th Annual National Indie Excellence Awards in Western Fiction. The second book, Clown William and the Lincoln County War was the winner of the 13th Annual National Indie Excellence Awards in Western Fiction, and the series, as a whole, was the Bronze Winner of the 2019 IPPYs Best Fiction Series. William's latest ride – Clown William and the Wind of Vengeance – will be released December 1, 2019 and continues our hero's journey from clown to friend to hero. |
Sometimes our greatest strengths can come from what we view as our greatest weaknesses. Robert Elno says this idea was a huge inspiration for him when he was writing the Clown William series, which is about a young man, William, who suffers from a physical ailment we now know as Tourette's Syndrome. After being kicked out of his house by his father in the first book of the series, a self-defense situation teaches him that he has astounding accuracy with a six-gun.
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The book series follows this unexpected hero through Colorado and New Mexico as he defends himself and those around him with this unexpected talent. And now, Robert Elno has the third installment in the series ready for readers.
Picking up where book two left off, Clown William and the Wind of Vengeance finds William still in New Mexico. In the book, he is obsessed with tracking down and finishing his war with the man he blames for his life turning out the way it has – Jesse Evans.
Picking up where book two left off, Clown William and the Wind of Vengeance finds William still in New Mexico. In the book, he is obsessed with tracking down and finishing his war with the man he blames for his life turning out the way it has – Jesse Evans.
As always, William is a target for many. He battles an inner conflict, as well, deciding to wait until Jesse is out of a compromising position before making his attempt on Jesse’s life. William is in a race against his own inner tornado . . . Will he beat it before it takes him out?
Robert Elno brings his experience as a retired army colonel and semiretired psychiatrist to this book series. He says he was also inspired by neurologist Oliver Sacks’s work about the unusual speed and accuracy often displayed by people with Tourette’s syndrome. The third installment in this series, Clown William and the Wind of Vengeance, is now available for pre-sale at both Barnes and Noble and Amazon.com. And, until then, here’s a little sneak peek . . .
Robert Elno brings his experience as a retired army colonel and semiretired psychiatrist to this book series. He says he was also inspired by neurologist Oliver Sacks’s work about the unusual speed and accuracy often displayed by people with Tourette’s syndrome. The third installment in this series, Clown William and the Wind of Vengeance, is now available for pre-sale at both Barnes and Noble and Amazon.com. And, until then, here’s a little sneak peek . . .
An isolated cabin in the New Mexico wilderness, February 1878
A bullet splintered the wood window casing of the cabin where William waited to kill Jesse Evans. William ducked lower. Things had not gone as planned, though one of Jesse’s men lay dead on the snow-covered ground a few yards in front of the cabin. Jesse hid in the tree line fifty yards away, cracking away with his rifle at William.
“You’re a damn fool, William,” Jesse shouted and fired again. “I know you’re fast, but a six-gun against a rifle?”
“This d-d-day has been coming for three years.” William watched the trees, trying to spot Jesse’s position. “Hoot. Ever since you first put a gun in my hand.”
“Seems more like God’s act than mine,” Jesse bellowed. “He’s the one made you defective with your jerks and mumbles. It was me helped you discover the gift that came with that curse.”
“It is no gift.” William fired at the trees. “I hate being a gunfighter. But you and God made it so I have no other choice. I despise you both for it.”
“Your hatred addled your brain. You let yourself be caught under my gun like this.” A shot, the bullet digging another splinter from the cabin wall, punctuated the statement.
The muzzle flash marked a spot in the trees, creating a perfect target for the next time Jesse fired—provided the outlaw didn’t shift to a new spot. William goaded him into another shot. “Your men killed my friend. You drove away my girl, Emily. Sheek, poot. You ruined my chances for a real home in Lincoln.”
“Well, when it comes to killin’, your Regulator pals ain’t any better. How many of Brady’s men have they killed? And locked Sheriff Brady up in his own jail. This war ain’t personal. Hell, I offered you a job on my side.”
“This is personal. I am not riding with those murdering Regulators now. This is about me f-f-finding a place to settle down, in peace.”
“Why're you gunnin’ for me?”
“Because God is out of my reach.”
“And so am I.” A muzzle flash just where it had been before.
William snap fired. And waited.
The sun climbed the sky, and the branches of the trees shed their white sleeves. Ice crystals glistened in the receding snow banks. The air lay still and cold as the top of a frozen stream. The dead man he’d shot that morning sprawled in front of the cabin. The man’s horse stood in the open, its head down, nuzzling snow aside as it pulled at tufts of dry grass.
The waiting dragged on. Was there some way to draw Jesse out? With one eye on the tree line, William threw a side of bacon onto the griddle of the potbelly stove heating the rough-hewn cabin. A pot of coffee simmered beside it—a nice welcoming scent to torment a cold and hungry man. He hoped it would make Jesse act rashly. Come and get it, William thought, revolver ready in his hand.
The bacon crisped and the coffee boiled. Jesse did not take the bait.
William ate the bacon and drank the coffee.
There had been no more shots. All was quiet. Too quiet.
A bullet splintered the wood window casing of the cabin where William waited to kill Jesse Evans. William ducked lower. Things had not gone as planned, though one of Jesse’s men lay dead on the snow-covered ground a few yards in front of the cabin. Jesse hid in the tree line fifty yards away, cracking away with his rifle at William.
“You’re a damn fool, William,” Jesse shouted and fired again. “I know you’re fast, but a six-gun against a rifle?”
“This d-d-day has been coming for three years.” William watched the trees, trying to spot Jesse’s position. “Hoot. Ever since you first put a gun in my hand.”
“Seems more like God’s act than mine,” Jesse bellowed. “He’s the one made you defective with your jerks and mumbles. It was me helped you discover the gift that came with that curse.”
“It is no gift.” William fired at the trees. “I hate being a gunfighter. But you and God made it so I have no other choice. I despise you both for it.”
“Your hatred addled your brain. You let yourself be caught under my gun like this.” A shot, the bullet digging another splinter from the cabin wall, punctuated the statement.
The muzzle flash marked a spot in the trees, creating a perfect target for the next time Jesse fired—provided the outlaw didn’t shift to a new spot. William goaded him into another shot. “Your men killed my friend. You drove away my girl, Emily. Sheek, poot. You ruined my chances for a real home in Lincoln.”
“Well, when it comes to killin’, your Regulator pals ain’t any better. How many of Brady’s men have they killed? And locked Sheriff Brady up in his own jail. This war ain’t personal. Hell, I offered you a job on my side.”
“This is personal. I am not riding with those murdering Regulators now. This is about me f-f-finding a place to settle down, in peace.”
“Why're you gunnin’ for me?”
“Because God is out of my reach.”
“And so am I.” A muzzle flash just where it had been before.
William snap fired. And waited.
The sun climbed the sky, and the branches of the trees shed their white sleeves. Ice crystals glistened in the receding snow banks. The air lay still and cold as the top of a frozen stream. The dead man he’d shot that morning sprawled in front of the cabin. The man’s horse stood in the open, its head down, nuzzling snow aside as it pulled at tufts of dry grass.
The waiting dragged on. Was there some way to draw Jesse out? With one eye on the tree line, William threw a side of bacon onto the griddle of the potbelly stove heating the rough-hewn cabin. A pot of coffee simmered beside it—a nice welcoming scent to torment a cold and hungry man. He hoped it would make Jesse act rashly. Come and get it, William thought, revolver ready in his hand.
The bacon crisped and the coffee boiled. Jesse did not take the bait.
William ate the bacon and drank the coffee.
There had been no more shots. All was quiet. Too quiet.
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