Lists
I’m always making lists.
Sometimes its story ideas, or scenes I want to work on. Other times it’s
related to work or teaching or even a run to the grocery store. I don’t always
follow the lists and get exactly what’s on there, but they can be a form of
guidelines. Or a nudge in the right direction.
Recently I picked up a copy of “Broken Prey” by John
Sandford. He always has a way of creating the kind of
characters that you’d feel comfortable dropping in on for a cold beer or three.
A subplot in this story has his protagonist, Lucas Davenport, trying to create the top 100 rock
and roll songs of all time to load on a IPod his wife gave him. Throughout the story, various characters
bombard him with their recommendations.
Since
I’m always listening to music, especially when I write, that’s the kind of list
I can relate to.
Here's a link to Sandford’s number one rock and roll
traveling song.
***
Winter is definitely upon us. Thoughts of freezing temperatures, icy
conditions, and blizzards are part of every conversation. Which got me thinking
about “Vanishing Act” which takes place in the dead of winter. Jamie’s best friend Linda has caught the
attention of a stalker. Here’s an
excerpt I hope you enjoy.
Talking quietly, trudging through the clumps
of snow and ice, neither one of us heard him at first.
“It’s getting to the point where I just want
to stay home,” she said quietly.
“You can’t hide, Linda. If you become a
prisoner in your own home, then he wins. And you are much too strong a person
to let that happen.”
She gave me a wan smile. “I know, Jamie,
it’s just…”
“Hey!” a gruff voice snapped at us from only
a couple of feet away.
Linda let out a shriek of surprise. She lost
her footing on the ice and crashed to the pavement. Looking over my shoulder, I
saw a blocky shape, hidden in the shadows beyond the reach of the overhead
lights, gliding close to the back end of a parked car. He took a menacing step
forward, one hand clutching something tightly and extending it towards us.
“Run!” I screamed at Linda for all I was
worth.
“Hey,” he snapped again, still reaching for
us.
I took a step toward him and planted my left
foot on one of the few dry patches of pavement. Then I swung my right foot as
hard as I could, as if I was about to nail a fifty-yard
field goal to win the Super Bowl. Without realizing it, I braced for the
impact. To this day, I’d swear I was aiming for his crotch. But I missed.
Maybe the pavement wasn’t dry after all. Or
maybe suddenly shifting my weight to make that kick caused me to lose my
balance. Or maybe subconsciously I couldn’t really kick a guy in the balls. Or
maybe he sensed what was happening and he took a step back. I’ll never really
know.
In my peripheral vision, I could see Linda
scrambling to her feet, already racing toward her car, clicking the remote
control to unlock the doors. My leg continued its arc and just before making
contact, my left foot shot out from underneath me.
My right foot slammed into the bulky guy. I
caught him square in the chest. With my body going horizontal, it must have
looked like some kind of ninja move. Whatever it was, it was enough to take him
off his feet, and he went down with a thud. I couldn’t be sure, but it looked
like his head bounced off the pavement.
I landed on my side and scrambled
immediately to my feet. I was crouched in a fighting stance, anger and
adrenaline churning in my gut. The guy let out a low groan. He made no move to
get up.
Suddenly lights flared around us. Linda
managed to start her car and pull it into the aisle. She lay on the horn, a
long deep throated wail that cut through the night. A few people who had been
moving across the parking lot came running over.
Illuminated by the headlights, I looked down
at the attacker. He was an older man, with a couple days’ worth of stubble
across his face. His left hand was pressed against his chest, roughly in the
spot in which I’d kicked him. Slowly he raised his right hand in my direction
as our eyes locked. His voice made a throaty rasping noise as he spoke.
“She dropped her glove.”
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