We all are susceptible to falling into routines. Whether its work or school related, even
downtime can become a pattern that may be difficult to break. As a writer, I am
always in pursuit of the next great story idea, the next great character,
either hero or villain. Yet there are times,
I need a little nudge to move me in a new direction. To take a chance. To try
something different.
Back in the fall, Melissa from Inkspell Publishing sent out
a note to the team of talented authors in her house that she was interested in
another short story collection. A couple of years ago, I wrote “Stealing Haven”
which was included in the vacation collection called “Once Upon a Summer”. But the idea of coming up with another Jamie
Richmond tale didn’t immediately take shape.
Then one of the crew mentioned the idea for a paranormal story.
My sarcastic brain kicked back “Paranormal? Hell, I’m abnormal.”
And just like that, something with a twist kicked in. Primarily I write mysteries and some
mystery/romance, but I’d never tried a paranormal story. About this same time, I’d been trading
emails with Elle Nina Castle, an author in Australia who read “Why 319?” and
thoroughly enjoyed it. If I was going
to embark on a new area of fiction, perhaps some assistance would be in order.
I pitched the idea of collaboration on the story.
Her first response was “Me?
You want to write this with me?”
“Why not?” I said. “No guarantees, but it might be fun.”
So we bounced a tale back and forth, a twist on a classic
children’s story, and then as Jackie Gleason used to say “Away We Go!”
We each would write a scene, then share it for
feedback. Gradually we plotted out what
was missing and figured out who would write specific sections. Several months later, we hit the target of
26,000 words. Both of us reviewed the
manuscript, made a few edits and additions here and there. Then it was the moment of truth. I submitted it to Melissa last Sunday night.
Monday evening Melissa responded with a contract.
24 hours!
This kind of reaction doesn’t happen to me. Maybe to guys like Stephen King, James
Rollins and Greg Iles get responses so quickly. Of course, they’re probably
under a multiple book contracts for years.
But not me.
Elle is probably still floating two feet off the
ground.
I’m in a state of amazement and wonder. Did we really do this? Two people who have
never met, let alone even talked on the phone, have written a story that is
slated to be published in July. Thanks
to the wonders of technology, this is actually going to happen. As Chuck Berry would say, “You never can tell”.
Who am I to argue with the father of rock and roll?
Thursday this week saw the first issue of my
newsletter. It’s got details about
writing, an interview with a great new author, bits about music and movies and
the chance to win an e-book copy of one of my novels. Check it out.
And if you’re interested in getting a monthly copy right in your email
box, drop me a note at motownmysteries@gmail.com
Since I mentioned Jamie above, it seems only fitting to include
an excerpt from the short story “Stealing Haven”.
The passage begins with Jamie and her best friend, Linda, on vacation
in South Haven, which is a lovely resort town on the shores of Lake Michigan.
I didn’t want to move.
Moving might convince me that I was no longer asleep, that the cool
breeze caressing my bare skin was not the touch of some mysterious lover who
appeared when the lights went out. That despite the presence of others he was
treating me like a princess, understanding how the slight nuzzle behind my knee
was having a very unladylike effect on me, how with just tiny encouragements
the little bits that I was wearing would disappear in a heartbeat. How…
“Jamie! We have to get moving,” a
sultry voice said. “You’re going to sleep away the day. We could have stayed
home and done that.”
I waved a hand to push her away. Maybe
the guy who’d been caressing my knee was still there. He was. I could tell by
the wet tongue that stroked my leg. I jerked awake and rolled over. Instantly I was greeted by a mass of fur and
several sloppy kisses. Satisfied, the dog moved away in pursuit of someone else
to bother.
“Linda, can’t you control Logan?”
She flopped down beside me. “Of course
I can. He was simply following orders. There are miles of soft sandy beach out
there, just waiting for us. Blue skies and enough wind to fill a sail. Who
knows how many handsome men may be pining for us at this very moment?”
I pried open both eyes to see if she
was serious. She was. Then I took a good look at her. Part of me wanted to
smack her, just because. She’d gotten the same four hours of sleep I had. Yet
Linda could have stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. Her luxurious
dark curly hair was pulled back with a headband, the waves sweeping across her
shoulders like gentle wings. Two weeks into June and she was already sporting a
bronzed tan that I could never achieve. Her curvaceous body and shapely legs
have caused even somber men to stumble. But it’s her angelic face that always closes
the deal. She rarely wore makeup. She didn’t need it. Giving my head a shake to
chase away the remnants of my dream, I realized she was already dressed for the
beach in a modest red bikini with a white lacy blouse as a cover up. Like that
would reduce the attention she’d draw.
“Come on. We’re wasting sunshine.”
“How long have you been awake?” I
mumbled.
“Fifteen minutes. The coffee should be
ready.” There was no disguising the enthusiasm in her voice. “Get ready, or I’m
tempted to leave you behind.”
“I need more than coffee.”
“There’s an adorable little bakery
between here and the beach. I’ll buy you a muffin.”
“What the hell.” I slid off the bed,
trudging to the bathroom.
God, she can be so annoying. She’s as gorgeous as a Hollywood icon and
able to bounce out of bed ready to face the world with minimal effort. I could
hear her talking with the dog as I splashed cold water on my face and raked a
comb through my red locks. Shedding the camisole and panties I’d worn to bed, I
stepped into a bright green bikini. From
my bag in the room I dug out a threadbare man’s dress shirt and slipped it on
as a cover. Exiting the bedroom, Linda handed me a cardboard cup of coffee.
Over one shoulder was a large straw bag filled with a beach towel, sunscreen, a
floppy hat and a book. I had one just like it sitting beside the door. I
grabbed mine as we walked outside.
Logan was sprawled in the shade. Sitting on a camp stool was a short,
stocky man with a weathered face. Thin wisps of grey hair danced in the breeze
from the lake. In front of him was an easel with a tattered canvas. He turned
slightly as we approached.
“Do you mind watching the dog while we’re at the beach, Uncle Jake?”
Linda asked.
He pointed the end of the paint brush at her. “Nah, the dog’s better
company than you two. I’ve trained him to fetch me a beer.”
“You can’t be serious,” I said.
Jake winked a pale brown eye at me. “About which part?”
“The beer. You love our company.”
“Shows what you know.” He twisted toward Logan and made a clicking
noise with his false teeth. The dog jumped up and trotted to the corner of the
house. He stuck his nose into an old galvanized tub then pulled back with a can
of beer clutched in his mouth. Logan came over and stood beside Jake. Chuckling
with delight, Jake eased it from the dog’s mouth. From a pocket of his paint
splattered shirt, he withdrew a dog biscuit. Logan took the treat and returned
to his spot beneath the tree. With a
grin, Jake opened the beer and took a healthy slug.
“It’s eight-thirty in the morning and you’re drinking beer. You’re
corrupting my baby,” Linda said. It was obviously a struggle to keep her tone
serious.
“The dog’s a Golden Retriever. It’s in his blood to fetch.”
“Don’t give him any beer,” Linda admonished.
Jake fluttered a hand at her.
“Go on. Have fun. And don’t be bringing any lecherous boys back here
with you. Dinner’s at six.”
Linda winked at me. She leaned in on Jake’s right side. I leaned in on
the left. Simultaneously we kissed him on the respective cheek. I noticed the
sparkle in his eye as we headed out.
Buy links:
Music this week comes from Chuck Berry.
