Posts filed under 'Writing'
I haven’t written in days. I can’t. I’ve tried but I just can’t. It won’t come. I have an idea for an ending but I can’t get it there. I sit down in front of the computer and nothing happens; nothing good anyway. Oh my Bob I suck.
But apparently “Oh my Bob I suck” is not a valid excuse for not writing. So here are some that might be:
I have writer’s block.
I have writer’s cramp.
I’m sleepy.
I’m hungry.
I’m thirsty.
I’m drunk.
My pen ran out of ink.
My computer ran out of electricity.
Dirty Jobs is on TV and I must watch it, um, to study it as research … for my main character … yeah, that’s it. Research.
Telemarketers wanting me to donate to the Fraternal Order of Police called and broke my deep concentration.
My cat had a hairball attack that left me emotionally scarred.
My horoscope said today is not a good day for creativity.
It’s raining.
It’s too hot.
It’s too cold.
I have to take my pet rock for a walk.
Mei spel chek brocke.
What’s your excuse?
July 28th, 2008
I checked the schedule, and unless I’m totally confused (which is entirely possible) I’m not treading on any toes with this post. I need help. More so than usual.
I’m doing something wrong, I must be.
So here’s the thing.
I wrote a post on Cranky Fitness, the blog where I spend a lot of my non-CB time, about how people could win a free bicycle simply by leaving a comment. Lots of people read the post; I can tell by the sitemeter statistics. About 1% of the people who read the post commented.
The conclusions I’ve drawn from this are:
1. No one wants a free bike that’s valued at $400.
or
2. My writing was too busy being trying to be interesting and creative, which obscured the essential point of the post.
Frankly, I find #1 hard to believe and #2 damn depressing, considering I get paid to write.Granted, what I’m paid to write is dull, technical, and so far removed from creativity that it might as well be accounting, but it is, technically, writing (albeit technical writing). I know that I wrote this post in a hurry and whilst trying to fend off a migraine, but still — a free bicycle? I must be doing something very wrong.
So what am I doing wrong? This is a blog filled with people who are discerning readers and writers. Surely someone can gently and kindly give me an educational kick up the backside on this one.
The post in question:
Stay young and win money, bicycles & stuff
April 17th, 2008
I have a very active fantasy life and recent conversations on this blog have made it even more active than usual.
I also like to prowl eBay and buy lottery tickets.
As I write this the PowerBall Multi-State Lottery is 91 million dollars, 46.7cash payout, and I have a ticket. After this investment of $1.00 turns itself into a winning ticket, I take the cash payout and pay taxes I figure I’ll have around 20 million dollars. A nice, simple to manipulate number.
Here is what I’m going to do with some of that money.
$775,000 is going to buy this http://tinyurl.com/6k8vzd
I found it on eBay, doncha know.
5 BUILDINGS 14 ACS CENTRAL KENTUCKY- FORMER BOARDING SCHOOL
- approximately 14 acres +/- in Millersburg Kentucky approximately 25 miles northeast of Lexington on Highway 68
-The property was formerly Millersburg Military Institute which was founded as Millersburg Male and Female Seminary in 1852.
-All buildings are fully furnished.
-ADMINISTRATION BUILDING has 10,032 total square feet, built 1852, 3 stories, with 2 apartments
-WOMACK MCMONAC GYMNASIUM 31,438 total square feet has fully stocked weight room and basement rifle range
-MILLON HALL dorm building 14,151 total square feet 2 stories, basement and 38 dorm rooms
-MESS/DINING HALL 8,976 total square feet has basement, library, work shop
-RANKIN HALL classroom building 19,354 total square feet has 12 classrooms, 2 stories and basement, 26 dorm rooms.
-The grounds include a football/soccer field.
What’s going to happen to it after the purchase? Well….
I figure it will take 5-10 million for renovations. I would be willing to bet the water and electric need updated. There will also probably be asbestos abatement, roofs, heat and tons of other things that fall into disrepair over the years and need updated, repaired or replaced. But that’s just the basic, make it habitable and usable stuff. After that comes the fun part.
The dorm building will be reconfigured. We’ll have cozy rooms for one or two and big rooms for a crowd. No more dorm room metal bunks with thin mattresses, the beds will be comfy and most will be made of wood. The bathrooms will be nice but serviceable. The hallways will be painted something fun and will have plush carpet.
There will be wireless internet all over the property.
There will be writer’s workshops and retreats.
There will CB get togethers and Cherry get togethers and it will be used by all of our favorite authors when they want to have fan gatherings.
And we will beg really really really loud and Her and Him will come and play with us since it only 1.5 hours outside of Cincy.
There will be alpacas and merinos and other lush fur babies. There will be classes on spinning, and dyeing and many of the fiber arts.
There will be bartending classes, big porches, lazy dogs, and cabana boys.
There will also be the bail fund so we can ensure that every CB can be at every CB meet.
What other classes should there be?
April 15th, 2008
No matter where I’m going, you all seem to be with me. Marilyn, from WODE (Write off the Deep End) and now an honorary CB, picked us up on Thursday morning and it seemed the laughter started right away. Did you hear us holler and wave as we drove past your place, JenT?
We found a mascot for our trip and named her in honour of GP. She’s not burnt but she is Sienna
Spiders represent connections and creativity while orange is the sexy, creative colour. And every time the bells ring, another CB is published. We hit a lot of bumps so you should all expect fantastic book deals any day now.
As soon as we got to the hotel, we dropped our bags and headed to the mall. I needed a new dress as there was a burn mark in a very eye-catching place on the one I’d brought for the dessert party. As it was one thousand degrees in NJ, we compromised on that need and raced back to go for a swim. in a heated pool. indoors. Until we were asked to leave because they wanted to close it for the night. Sheesh. We weren’t hurting anyone splashing around in there.
We needed margaritas to cool off while we waited for RSS to pull in. Me, Scope and I raised a toast to McB as is our tradition while Marilyn begged the bartender for a Kiss on the Lips (peach schnapps, mango juice and grenadine). There was much squealing and hugging when RSS joined us in the bar. Then her phone rang. McB wanted us to toast her with margaritas. I saw Me’s face drop with shock and excitement which kinda threw me. Until I heard McB’s voice over my shoulder. Oh. my. Bob. The shrieking scared the other people in the bar.
Our darling McB had come to cover Scope’s back in person. And every time she posted on the blog over the weekend to say she was in the bar waiting to hear how we had done in our interviews, she really was in the bar reading a book and sipping wine. It wasn’t decorated right, and the jukebox didn’t play our favourite tunes but she didn’t lie to you either. Merely misdirected.
We closed the place that night, but snuck out before the security guard who loved, loved, loved, romance, romance, romance, came along to escort us from the room. He was a hoot, and never seemed to sleep because I saw him at all hours of the day and night (no I didn’t sleep much either)
We started the day with a swim then went for brunch at Panera before the conference started. No, Jenny was not there. We looked. We also forgot to post from there although we discussed it several times. Bad CBs!
Despite the fact that the conference started badly as far as the editor/agent appointments went, the mix-ups were straightened out and everyone had an appointment. I was gifted with a free pass, straight to request as my chosen editor didn’t attend the conference. You’d think I would have danced across the room and saved myself the stress, but I signed up for an agent appointment as well.
We went our separate ways more or less for the workshops. RSS and I attended Susan Gable’s excellent workshop - Story Superglue: Make it stick with readers. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t heard before, but the approach struck a chord.
From there, Marilyn and I went to How to fine-tune your pitch with Jessica Faust from Bookends. Marilyn and I had worked on hers in the car so she shared it with the rest of the workshop. Jessica thought it was “perfect” and asked to see a partial. That was a thrilling moment for Marilyn who was attending her first conference,after taking eleven years to complete her manuscript. Persistence pays off.
We met a lovely woman who Marilyn invited to join us for dinner. Barbara took us all in stride, and contributed a fair amount to the hilarity. I’m not sure why she didn’t join us for dinner the next night…
As you can see from the photographs we had our priorities.
The table was wobbly which resulted in far too much spillage of precious liquid so Marilyn attempted to fix that.
No luck but we sure couldn’t stop laughing. Nothing but good times. Aren’t those lovely glasses?
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We took them all home with us. They may reappear in later photographs.
We raced back to the room to dress for the Golden Leaf Awards Ceremony and dessert bar. Aren’t we all beautiful?
Sadly my critique partner Brenda Harlen didn’t win but Marilyn and I posed by the fountain with her anyway.
The three of us have been members of WODE for a very long time. These women, along with Kate who was unable to attend the conference, have been instrumental in my writing. I like how we all glitter.
As the bartender had promised Marilyn a Kiss on the Lips, we all trooped down to the bar for a nightcap. We ran into an author who told some Bob and Jenny stories that none of us believed. Now, we know The Cherry and the GAM are multi-dimensional and have a broader existence than the one we are aware of, but some of that stuff sounded so out-of-character that it caused much discussion for the rest of the weekend. It’s interesting to me, not her, how different people perceive actions and reactions.
Breakfast was early the next morning so we headed off for an early evening. I think it was after one am before we fell asleep but hey, four CBs in one room makes for some interesting discussions. Besides, RSS says I’m nice to sleep with. She’s willing to give me references.
People are tense for Saturday morning breakfast. RSS and I were re-writing our pitches at the table while other people interacted. I only remember part of Karen Robards‘ speech because I was focused on my upcoming appointment. I do remember it was good, peppered with funny stories about kids, flying and how she got started in the business. Oh my bob I laughed at the recitation of her first reading. She might not have known much about the business when she started, but she understood the need to get the book written and out there. Fascinating woman.
I missed the first workshop of the day because I was running around trying to help one of the speakers find the conference co-ordinator. It seemed like the right thing to do. It also gave me a chance to hug RSS and wish her luck before her agent appointment. Priorities. Then I ran into Me and Scope so more hugs and good wishes before I wandered off to practice my own pitch. I met Marilyn coming out of her agent pitch - a request of course - and pumped her for information as both Me and I (try saying that aloud in front of writers) both had appointments with that agent. “She wants to know about you, and makes constant eye contact.” Invaluable advice. Turns out Ky was a good icebreaker as she’s a dog lover, has three of her own. My new improved pitch wowed her and she asked to see the first fifty pages.
Lunch was a far more relaxed meal than breakfast. Sherrilyn Kenyon’s luncheon address had us sobbing in the aisles. Persistence, persistence, persistence. ” I am the best writer in the room and I deserve my dream.”
I had every intention of taking a nap during the first afternoon session but I met Kathryn Smith and her hot husband in the elevator. After a discussion about the romance writer’s documentary shown on Bravo in Canada, she asked if I was going to her workshop. I explained my need for a nap and went in search of McB for Scope. I locked myself out of the room after reading McB’s note about the bar. She gave me Scope’s notebook and sent me on my way - to Kathryn Smith’s workshop. There was no way I could just slip in and hand Scope her notebook then slide back out. I’m glad I stayed. The woman writes great emotional love scenes.
The agent panel was full of conflicting information. One loved cookies and gimmicks, several hated them. Several thought you could write a lousy query letter but a brilliant manuscript and vice versa while others thought the quality of the query reflected the quality of the manuscript. Apparently the editor panel in the previous session had raved about fantasy romance as the new up and coming hot genre.
The conference ended with a literacy signing. While waiting outside the ballroom, Marilyn, RSS and I were interviewed by romancenovel.tv - an online channel devoted to romance novels. One of the questions was about authors we hoped to see inside. Most of our answers involved authors whose workshops had resonated with us. Kathryn Smith, Judi McCoy, Nancy Herkness, Brenda Harlen, Susan Gable, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Eileen Dreyer and several others.
All that book buying was exhausting so we darted down to the pool to relax before dinner.
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It’s a good thing McB has strong toes. The pool was four and half feet deep. She’s only four foot, seven so most of the conversations took place with her on her tip toes. She almost drowned when she laughed - which was often.
Dinner was a long delicious affair in the hotel’s steakhouse. Virginia Kantra and Brenda Harlen shared their experiences as published authors, giving pitches and how to navigate the industry. We also laughed, toasted each other and shared the wonder of being together. I’m not sure how RSS got a reputation for being quiet. If she sat on her hands, would she be silent?
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I love her enthusiasm and performances.
By the time we left the restaurant the after conference party was well underway. We found Scope down there pounding back the beer with her friend Nancy. A room full of wine, margaritas and chocolate sang its siren song. We headed back up there where we poured wine into the margarita glasses and reviewed the weekend. I tried to post to the blog but McB’s battery died just as I hit send.
We were so silly and very little of it was a result of the wine. We were drunk on CB power. Our shovel pins had fortified our nerves throughout the editor/agent appointments. McB’s surprise presence had reiterated the lengths to which we are willing to go for each other. All of you were mentioned at one point or another. Heck, Me’s agent interview was with JenT’s agent, not that any of us knew that before she asked Me about the shovel. Lou and her DH were in our thoughts all weekend. GP’s math got us out of a couple of scrapes(McB didn’t drown in the pool) and Wapak’s generosity in Dayton was still being marveled at. We also talked about getting together on the west coast because now that Bob’s out there, a CB meet with as many of us as possible is a requirement.
As the wine flowed and the silliness continued, the conversations kept circling back to the Bar and Grill. Mary’s “Friends don’t let friends blog drunk” was practically a mantra and one we did not heed. I’m not sure how we got to the idea that blogging naked would be a bad idea too. But suddenly we were shrugging into our robes and heading to the business center, giggling and shushing each other all the way. We were happy. We didn’t hurt anyone. And we missed all of you so very much. While Marilyn and Scope slept, the rest of us toasted the CB Bar and Grill.
You’re all invited to McB’s in December to help trim the Christmas tree. We’re starting a new tradition. And then she’s making us bake cookies for the exchange. She might need a bigger kitchen.
And that’s my long winded report about CBs taking over New Jersey.
October 10th, 2007
now, i’m not saying we should do another CB writing exercise together (i’m liking the old one, personally), but we’re running out of room and i didn’t want to put a blank post (though bob knows we wouldn’t have any trouble with that). but i just ran across this exercise and i think it would be a good one for writers, since most of us at one time of another have fallen upon a cliche that shouldn’t be in our story:
Choose an object and write down the ten most obvious words you’d use to describe it. (ex: rose= red, thorned, sweet-smelling, etc). Then write a paragraph describing the object without using any of the ten words. (ex: The rose’s petal fell gently off, and Katherine watched it with sick forbearing. Johnathan had given her that rose. Just one, instead of dozens. You only need one to see the beauty in it, he had said, and she had nodded, because she could. The way the color crept from the tips down, fading into the the thick stem. The color of blush, with just a hint of fierceness at the tips, as if all the color had been contained right there at the edge of each petal, and there was a slight leak. She inhaled the scent now, and it was still there, even as another petal fell. It made her feel a little bit better- maybe Johnathan would be kind to her again.)
so anyways, back to mary-beth….
Update:
blame MCB. (and just cause, lori too). i was going to pick a couple of objects and write out the ten adjectives, but i couldn’t think of the ten adjectives. seriously, for rose, i got up to seven (red, thorned, sweet-smelling, pretty, thick-stemmed, delicate, bouquet) before my mind went “no”. so never mind that. seriously, stick with mary-beth. she just got a beer-smelling kitten. go with that.
September 14th, 2007
I know, I’m a day early. But as BCB always tells me - I’m a damn impatient woman. Yes I am. I’m also shaking in my chair. Writing this book is like starting my writing all over agian. It feels like the very first book I ever wrote. I’m scared it won’t be good enough. I’m scared I’m not good enough. I’m also scared because deep down, I know this is a damn brilliant idea and I’m terrified that I won’t ever have another brilliant idea again. Although, the other day after finish THE CITADEL by Robert Doherty (AKA Bob Mayer) I had an ephany of sorts. Yeah, I’ve sort of got another idea working for another thriller, but I guess I should finish DEATH BY BODY PART.
Now - I don’t think this is that gorey, but I will admit that it could be a bit disturbing. I will not be held responsible for anyone having nightmares. And please remember, I’m really a nice, normal suburban housewife (oh just stop laughing).
So, here goes. And please, feel free to tell me what you don’t like. I’m open to critisim. Kind of why I put it out there.
Prologue
The room is dark and cold. Faint moonlight seeps through the tattered curtains that once hung proudly in the window. The floorboards creak with every step I take. There are no lights, since the electricity had long ago been turned off. Rats were probably the only inhabitants left, and even they are scarce. It is if the building is dead.
I light a match and watch the smoke float toward the ceiling. The smell of sulfur tickles my senses as a shiver runs down my spine. This is what I have been waiting for. I watch the flame flicker as it casts a dancing shadow across the battered walls. I run my hand over the flame and feel the heat on my skin before lighting the small candles. Seven to be exact.
I continue with the new ritual that seems to come naturally to me. I think it’s easy because I know it’s necessary, but I shouldn’t enjoy it. It’s just something I must do. It’s my gift.
I place the candles around the young child. Familiar bright blue eyes blink frantically at me. Pleading with me. “Relax,” I whisper. I don’t want to scare her anymore than is necessary. It’s not her fault.
The young girl squirms on the floor, but her hands and legs are bound, so her struggle is futile. I can hear her muffled sobs under the duct tape pulled tight across her mouth. I kneel beside her head. “Don’t fight. You’re time has been over for a while now.” I brush the girl’s hair back, but she turns her head from me. I wish she wasn’t so afraid. This life didn’t belong to her.
The young girl’s eyes rolled and fluttered. I can tell the end was near. My hands tremble in anticipation as her little body quivers. I can’t wait any longer.
I pinch her nostrils closed. Horror filled eyes stare back at me. “Relax and the easier the end will be.” I try and comfort her with my words of wisdom, but she only struggles to break free. I place my hand on her stomach and rub gently. I used to… “Just relax,” I whisper and squeeze her nose harder.
I can feel the anger surge through my veins like heroin entering the bloodstream of an addict. Terrorizing at first, but so calming when the drug finally takes effect.
I need her to die.
I watch as the child fights for breath. Suddenly her eyes open wide. She stares at me as if I could possibly save her. Ironic, because that is exactly what I’m doing. “Yes. Let go of this life.” Her eyes roll back and her body goes limp.
But not dead.
Her tiny heart barely pulses in slow, unsteady beats inside her chest. I waited as patiently as I can, holding her wrist, waiting for a sign.
A faint pulse pushed against my finger. I press harder on her wrist, but no more beats follow. My heart races with excitement. Finally, the child is where she belonged. I run my finger over the sharp blade of the scalpel. It fells warm. I smile. “Forgive her. She does not know the sins others have burdened her with. For it is not her fault, but theirs.”
Chapter One
Homicide Detective Shayne O’Malley adjusted his shoulder holster as he clipped his badge on his belt loop. Grey clouds lingered in the darkening Rochester sky. In all the years he’d lived in New York, the sun seemed to only shine during the month of July. That was two months ago, and today the weatherman predicted snow. One of these days he’d move south. Maybe.
He pushed passed the reporters. A few of them shouted questions at him, but he ignored them. A small crowed had gathered behind a police barricade. Hushed whispers echoed in his ears.
He needed it to stop.
Running his hand through his thick black hair in a lame attempt to make it look decent, he focused on the condemned office building, rather than the five local news crews scrutinizing his every move. This wasn’t the right night to start his already rocky career over.
“Push back that police line,” he said to Officer Cox, stopping at the front of the building. The cracked concrete steps crunched under his feet. He shifted his gaze toward the milling crowd of angry bystanders. “Put anyone with a camera on that side of the building. Better yet, tell them to go home. Nothing to see.”
He rounded his shoulders. “Where’s Jones?” he asked Officer Gullo, who stood at attention in what one might assume had been a lobby judging by the old ripped up couches pushed against each other. A sign indicating elevators were around the corner hung behind a desk that faced the main doors. Wires dangled from the ceiling and popped out of the wall sockets.
“Arrived about five minutes ago,” Gullo replied.
“Shayne, over here,” his partner, Will Jones, called from a room just off the main corridor. “Bastard took her eyes.”
“What?” Shayne took a moment to prepare his mind and organize his thoughts. His pulse pounded in his temples. Why the fuck would someone take a little girls eyes?
He scanned the dark room where the body had been found. The carpet was torn up in most areas, exposing a rotted wood floor. The forensics team had set up lights and mini labs on the old rusted desks pushed against the wall.
Jones shook his head. “And the body was drawn on with some kind of a marker.”
Shayne swallowed. It didn’t matter how many times he saw a dead body it still affected him. Tonight would be worse. He averted his gaze from the lifeless body sprawled on the cold bare floor. Methodically, he scanned the room and made mental notes of the tagged evidence.
Seven cherry scented candles lined the floor, surrounding the child. Her hands tied behind her back. Her ankles were crossed and bound. Her naked body exposed to the cruel world.
“Why would someone draw on a body with a marker?” Jones bent over one of the forensics men.
Shayne studied the red lines on her stomach. It didn’t appear to be a pattern, or a message. Just lines. But they had to mean something.
“Do we have an ID yet?” Shayne focused his stare on the girl with no eyes. Her lids look as if they’d been peeled back and almost held open until rigor mortis had taken begun to take over the body. She looked as if she had no soul. He swallowed the bile that bubbled in this throat. Life wasn’t fair. Death down right cruel.
“No positive ID yet, but we’re pretty sure it’s Congressman Cavanaugh’s kid. She went missing a few days ago.” Jones pointed to a pile of rumpled up clothing. “Those match the description.”
“That’s not good,” Shayne whispered. In general, murdered children made headlines. This would make national news and bring in every idiot known to law enforcement. Shayne slipped on his gloves and knelt. The rope around the victim’s hands and legs had ripped her skin, duct tape covered her mouth, and her body had grown pale and stiff.
Shayne pulled out his notebook, running his fingers over the leather cover before flipping it open. He tapped his pen against the paper before scribbling the word eyes. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“I’m thinking whoever killed this little girl is a real nut case. What kind of crazed fucker cuts out a kid’s eyes?”
“You really want me to answer that?” Shayne closed his pad and shoved his trembling hand in his pocket when he noticed Special Agent Kara Martin making her way down the hall. Just fucking great. “Who called the feds?” he grumbled to Jones, but kept his gaze on her. She slowed her pace, pointed to a few things, and handed out a few orders in true Kara form.
“Wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Cavanaugh himself demanded they work this case,” Jones paused. “But still, the Cap has to ask for the feds help.”
If Kara was on the scene, the captain had already asked for help. Fuck. “Captain Terrence is a smart man, he’ll ask for it, otherwise the politicians will make our life a living hell.” Shayne rubbed his throbbing temples. His life was already a living hell and knowing this was probably the work of either some political idiot trying to get attention, or a fucking serial killer, it would murder his career. Not that he had much of one these days.
Kara’s presence would only complicate things. She had a thirst for power and a need for control. The way she barged into a room commanded everyone to take notice. And if they didn’t, look out. Her badge, chained around her neck, dangled just below her breasts. It bounced against her standard issue white blouse. Confident, beautiful, and dangerous. A bad fucking combination.
And she’d be the first one to make the connection.
“Detective O’Malley.” Kara thrust her hand toward Shayne. Her eyes might be blue, but he’d be hard pressed to describe them as warm and welcoming. More like the first layer of ice over a lake. “Just here to help out anyway I can.” She slipped her brown-rimmed glasses off her nose, and shoved them in her breast pocked before brushing her blonde hair behind her ears. “So, tell me what you got.”
“Not much,” Shayne admitted, taking a report from one of the lab techs. No reason not to share information at this point.
“I’ve called in the profiling team,” Kara said in a tone that could frost a beer mug.
“I haven’t asked for them and don’t you think that’s a bit premature.” Shayne didn’t bother to hide his frustration as he glared at her.
“Spoke with your captain less than twenty minutes ago. He agrees that we should be working together on this one considering who we believe the victim to be.” Kara pushed back her coat, planted her hands on her hips, exposing her weapon. “You okay? I’m surprised another detective didn’t take this one.”
He could ignore the fact that he was stuck dealing the FBI, but he couldn’t ignore her condescending tone. And this wasn’t the right time or place. “Bug off,” Shayne said softly, stepping closer as he glanced over his shoulder before making eye contact.
Kara scanned the room then said, “Come on. You should have taken today off or something.”
“Oh fuck,” Jones mumbled.
Shayne wanted to throttle Kara for bringing this shit up in the middle of a damn crime scene. He worked his ass of to try and ignore the significance of today in hopes the world would forget with him. He’d made a point of taking a few days off last week just for good measure. “I’ve got work to do.”
Thankfully, Jones gave him a nod and continued to look over the body. It was as if he understood, but he didn’t. No one did. Anyone else who put the connection together probably figured he was either an unfeeling bastard, or he was still out to lunch. Either way, he was fucked.
“I think we need to dig into the Congressman’s past and see if there is any reason someone would want to hurt him,” Jones commented as the medical examiner carefully turned the dead girls arm over obviously looking for some kind of answer to the puzzle of how, and maybe even why.
“I’ve got my team working on it.” Kara brushed off her slacks, but kept her narrowed focused on Shayne.
“Just stay out of my way.” Shayne balled his fists and squelched his first reaction to grab her by the arm and escort her out of the building. “This is my case.”
“Well, you’re not alone on this one,” she snapped. “I’ll see you in your office tomorrow morning around nine,” Kara said, then turned on her heel and stomped her way to the medical examiner, and started to chew his ear off.
“I’m sorry man. I didn’t think about the date.”
“Drop it,” Shayne said trying desperately to ignore the crushing pain in his chest. He felt a slight bead of perspiration roll across his hairline.
Jones nodded. “You really shouldn’t piss Kara off like that. She can make our lives miserable if she wants to.”
“She can also kiss my ass.” Shayne raked his hand through his hair and turned toward the boarded-up window.
“Regardless. We can use their man power, not to mention the access they seem to have to everything under the sun.” Jones folded his arms across his chest. “If this is Cavanaugh’s kid, we’ve got to work with them.”
Jones wasn’t normally the lets get along, take one for the team, kind of guy. But considering Jones’s job at present was to make sure Shayne was still fit to do his job, Shayne figured the man would become Mr. Politically-Correct. “As long as they stay the fuck out of my way.”
“You know the drill.” Jones stood across from him and leaned against the board where a window used to be. “And give yourself a break.”
Laughing wasn’t the smartest thing to do during a conversation like this, but Shayne couldn’t help it. “I can’t afford to. No one else is going to and you know it.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t want to have haul your ass to the county jail.” Jones leaned in closer and stared Shayne down with his dark, near black eyes. “Just go by the book and play nice with the FBI. Don’t screw up your life anymore than it already is.”
Shayne didn’t need to be reminded of his pathetic existence, but he couldn’t afford to be forced on leave again. That damn near killed him. “You mean it could get worse?”
“You could take a day or two if you needed,” Jones said half under his breath. “No one would blame you.”
“Screw you.” Shayne glared at his partner. Jones should know better than anyone what being stuck at a desk job had done to him. “And if I’m off, then so are you, since you’re my appointed babysitter.” One thing he knew for sure, Jones never turned a case over to someone else. He believed that would taint the investigation, allowing for too many mistakes.
“I’m just trying to be sensitive to the situation,” Jones said, glancing down the hallway.
“Then let it go. I’m fine.” Shayne stared him directly in the eye for a long moment. His body trembling on the inside, but miraculously, he’d managed to keep that from the world because once again, Jones gave a sympathetic nod.
“Agent Martin is heading out the door, this is our chance.”
Shayne followed ten paces behind Kara. He poked his head out the front door. “I’ll meet you at the station,” he said to Jones. As soon as Kara had the press distracted, he’d make a run for it.
May 20th, 2007
First - I apologize to CMS for stepping in on her post day. I hope you don’t mind, but this just couldn’t wait.
Second - There are to be no “poor babies” or any “oh that sucks” or even “screw them” comments. I’m beyond that. This is just the way the world works. So, here is my not so great news.
Triskelion Publishing has changed hands and in the process they have decided to focus on e-books and have cancelled most print runs for this up coming year. This includes cancelling my print run. Yes, this was hard, but it was a business decision on their part. It wasn’t because my book wasn’t good enough, because well, it’s a damn good book. But the company was loosing money in the print world, but they are thriving in the ebook world.
This does not affect my e-book release. RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU will be available for download sometime in June and I will let you all know. I’m still going to do promotions for the book. It’s still a start. I’m still considered a published author. It just means that for the time being, it won’t be in paperback. That doesn’t mean they won’t eventually print it, just not in the near future.
I’ve also got a lot of things going, like I have an agent. This is huge. And while I recently got a rejection from Harlequin, the same book is at a few other houses, so cross your fingers. I’m also writing other books. I’m very close to being finished with my very first Thriller that has already been requested by TOR, so this is good.
Yes, I’m very disapointed. Yes, it hurt. But it wasn’t personal. It was business and nobody ever said this was going to be easy. It’s hard.
There, I’m done. You can all go back to your regular scheduled lives. Me, I’m going to continue to write, becasue I am a writer and a damn good one at that.
May 9th, 2007
Hi all!
Thanks so much for the support, it is so nice and a bit of a surprise. I honestly had no idea that BCB would do such a sweet and nice thing for someone else. Snort. Okay, so she does a lot of nice things, but for me? Geez, damn near gave me a heart attack. But seriously, when I sent her and a few other writers the link it wasn’t to have them post, but just to share an OMG! Am I really an author? Yes, I am. It’s really happening. Still in a bit of shock here and since I’m in good company I don’t mind telling you that I have pre-ordered a few books myself. When the rest of the CB writers get published I will be first in line. I also don’t mind admitting I go to those sites on a daily basis, just to look. It’s a weird feeling to see your name on a book cover. I so can’t wait to get that book in my hands.
I know I’ve been a bit absent these days and I wish I could say it was because I was so busy with good stuff, but that isn’t the case. However, I refuse to let all the crap get me down. I just needed a bit of time to absorb all that was going on with me and give me and my family a chance to deal with it. Now things are starting to look up. Well as up as they can be with two teenagers under foot and one 9 year old that thinks he’s freaking Wayne Gretzky. Oh, and lets not forget the fourth child I didn’t realize I had until last night at the dinner table, geez.
Anyway, I debated long and hard if I should give you all an excerpt or not. I kept telling myself, you didn’t really care. Okay, so you care but what I mean is that, this isn’t about me. Really, I get that. It’s about a world that got created out of total whackyness. A group of peope who gathered together for one purpose, but no one actually knew the purpose - or did you and you just didn’t fill me in. Whatever. But I’ve decided to share a short excerpt. It’s unedited so the final product may vary slightly since I haven’t done my final edits yet. I should get them soon.
The excerpt comes about halfway through the book and I just thought you all would like it. It’s very short. And if you never want to see an excerpt again, just let me know and then on my next post I’ll pick on you. If you hate it, I don’t need to know, lie and tell me you love it, but buy the book anyway. If you love it, feel free to send general praise my way.
Enjoy - JenT
“Take a deep breath,” Jared whispered in her ear.
She swallowed and peered around the corner. Her heart pulsed, then stopped for a brief moment, before it began to flutter in inconsistent beats. Both of her hands instinctively clamped down over her gaping mouth, muffling her scream.
Blood was smeared across what remained of her bed. The mattress had been pulled to the side, half sitting on the floor with the insides exposed by each tear. Four men, all with gloves and masks on stopped what they were doing and stared at her, before going back to taking samples and pictures.
“Where did the blood…” she gagged, “blood come from?” The muscle on Jared’s bicep didn’t even flinch when she grabbed it for support.
“We don’t think it’s human,” someone said.
“Little Jimmy Henderson said his dog didn’t come home last night.” Jared looped his arms around her, but it didn’t stop her body from trembling. “But we don’t know anything right now.”
Turning her head, the bright red writing on the wall caught her attention. The letters where dripping down like the title in the book Helter Skelter. “Oh, God.” She stared at the words ‘Die Bitch’. The empty contents of her stomach lurched up. “I’m going to be sick.”
A thud, followed by a few curses fell faint in her ears as she pushed everyone and anything aside that stood in her path. The bathroom seemed so far away. Not bothering to shut the door, she dropped to her knees and gagged. Then gagged again. But the only thing that came up was a foul taste.
Her entire body broke out in a cold sweet. Shaking her hands out, she stood up, panic gripping her good judgment. Her pulse hurt as it pounded loudly in her head. She paced in the tiny bathroom unaware of her surroundings. Unable to cope. “Damn it!” She swiped her hand across the sink, knocking everything to the floor. “I won’t be afraid!”
“You have to be afraid.” Jared’s voice rang out strong and confident. He yanked her by the shoulders and heaved her to his chest with steady arms. “This guy, whoever he is, has snapped. We need to believe he’ll stop at nothing–”
“To kill me?” She pounded on Jared’s chest. “Why me? What the hell did I ever do?”
March 19th, 2007
There’s a forum elsewhere that is discussing, Queen of Swords, by Sara Donati, AKA Rosina Lippi, over the next number of weeks. She asked me to be the moderator (Don’t even ask whether I’m qualified!). Rosina writes both contemporary romances and historical adventures with romance thrown in. Queen of Swords is the fifth novel of the Wilderness series. It takes place in New Orleans in 1814 and 1815 during the War of 1812 (I didn’t name the war!). It’s written so that you don’t need to read the previous 4 first.
Historical novels rarely are funny like Crusie’s romances are; so don’t expect contributors to have the CB craziness. Over there I have a different alias, unpronounceable, only 5 letters long since Blooger wouldn’t let me have it at J&B’s.
With J&B starting up their 2007 Online Writing Workshop, this might be a good opportunity (Hint! Hint!) to delve into a different genre from theirs for comparison. Some of my questions will have to do with Rosina’s purpose in doing things for the sake of structure, foreshadowing, character developing (arcs, I hope), and POV. Of course, many questions will be more mundane.
So why invite you all? On accounta you all are really literate in a writerish sorta way and could make some fine contributions. And, no, I won’t be deserting the CB Bar & Grill. You can take a peek without registering (you’ll be a GUEST), but must register in order to add comments. http://tiedtothetracks.com/forum/, then to Sara’s Stuff: The Wilderness Novels, then to Queen of Swords: discussion group.
Joining in after the study has already begun is not a problem since I designed it so that people could join in later and begin at the beginning or the middle or the end. (She blushingly pats herself on the back and makes a curtsy.)
Why such a web name? The forum started when Rosina’s contemporary novel, Tied To The Tracks first came out.
If you’re interested, check out Queen of Swords from the library; a lot interested, Amazon lists at $18.
January 5th, 2007
I couldn’t remember whether we had a tagline or not. Changed the blog name, but that’s about it. I’m going to leave the rest of the design up to you. Delete or change this post when you can so that I know you got in okay.
Edited to add all categories so that we quit getting the error when choosing a caategory from the sidebar. - Bryan
September 20th, 2006
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