The Meanest Of Them Sparkled
The Meanest Of Them Sparkled (Image by favim.com)
Now that we’ve gotten to know each other a little better, I’d like to share something with you that I’ve never revealed to my 1200+ subscribers: my novel. However, as my manuscript is fairly high concept, I’m going to post a chapter that deals primarily with Macy, my barista protagonist, and her goth, Indian co-worker, Fred’s (short for Fareed) relationship which is secondary to the plot.
Of course, I expect that it will be a little difficult to catch on right away, but then my readers are unusually intelligent. Maybe I’m biased, but you guys seem to get me and what I write, so let’s see what you think.
“The Meanest of Them Sparkled is a Young Adult/Literary Fiction hybrid, intended to appeal to both older teens and adults alike. And no, I’m not going to let you know what the novel is about. Let me know if I’ve been successful in capturing your attention. Your comments are golden to me! I only sent this manuscript to a handful of agents and received an extremely positive response – and I’m preparing to begin sending it out again – so I’m very open to any constructive criticism you have to offer.
The Meanest of Them Sparkled
Chapter 11
I can’t believe it. I am officially one-third of the way done saving the world! I feel like a rock star. I walk like a rock star. Swaggering down the street, I’m not sure if I’m Pink or Mick Jagger or Johnny Cash, but every step has got rhythm. I keep expecting glitter to flutter around me like a swirl of happy snowflakes, and for the clouds to part so that a single ray of golden sun can shine down on me – my own personal spotlight.
Instead, the morning crowd of suits and skirts jostles against me as I take up too much space on the sidewalk, my stride big and wide like I own the putty cement slab that leads me to my coffee kingdom. Fred’s already inside, brewing beans. I bang on the front door like I own the place – another no-no as employees are supposed to use the back door only – but I don’t care. In my mind, there aren’t two more tasks ahead of me. There is only the one behind me. I’ve saved at least 2 billion people today, believing in my rock star dream world that I can somehow fraction off a part of the Earth’s population and tuck it into my pocket, keeping it safe from devastation. Which country – no, countries – have I rescued from certain death? I wonder to myself as Fred approaches the door, furtively glancing over his shoulder to make sure Peter, the part-time baker and general tattletale, doesn’t see my bold display of rule-breaking. Certainly, the United States. Charity starts at home, right? I could save all of China. Gotta save the U.K. ‘cause that’s where all the really great music comes from anyway.
Fred carefully holds the brass bell attached to the handle as he unlocks the bolt and inches the door open, wide enough for a ballpoint to slide through. “You’re supposed to use the back door,” he hisses through the crack – like he never breaks the fucking rules – then slews his eyes towards the kitchen meaningfully.
I can’t help it. I burst out in giggles. Me. Giggling. Really. “Open the fucking door, Singh,” I cackle, leaning against it heavily, my momentum and sheer force of will nearly toppling poor Fred on his skinny little ass. Nothing will ruin my day today. I have preserved Kung Pao Chicken for all of eternity!
Fred backs away, his brow creased with concern. “Are you drunk?” he accuses, sniffing the air like a bloodhound.
“Drunk on the lives of over a billion Chinese people,” I screech. Come to think of it, I do sound a little bit drunk. Better dial it back a notch. “No, I’m fi-i-i-ine,” I sing to him. “I’m just in a really, really good mood.”
“Really?” he says, taking a step towards me.
“Yes, really,” I answer, my head bobbing up and down like the plastic puppy on Granny’s dashboard.
“Really,” he says again. Another step. So close I can smell the peach Danish he ate for breakfast on his breath. His eyes close. Jaw tilts at that angle reserved only for Disney princesses waiting to be kissed. His lips part slightly as he leans in for the kill.
“Ewww,” I say, pushing my hands against his rib cage. “Not that good.” Man, only Fred can totally ruin my day in thirty seconds or less. For a moment we just stand there, me pissed and Fred confused.
In my peripheral vision, I see Peter emerge from the kitchen, his face already slick with sweat. “Yay’re s’pposed ta use da back dur,” he hollers from the doorway, his upper lip curled like a bad Elvis impersonator.
“And you’re supposed to renew your rabies tag every year,” I shoot back. I hate that fat bastard. I especially despise the way he wears his jeans belted tightly below his bulging stomach and about six inches too long so that he can cuff them like he’s a greaser in a 1950’s flick. I don’t know why Mario keeps him around. Probably because he’s such a kiss ass. I flip him off, my middle finger erect and brazen, until he turns and stomps off in a huff.
I’m still left with Fred and that little crease he gets between his eyebrows when his feelings have been hurt. “I texted you, like, ten times last night,” he says, accusatorily.
“Yeah?” I say, looking over his shoulder to avoid his glare.
“Yeah,” he echoes. “Didn’t you get them?”
Of course I got them, you freak! My phone beeped all the way through “CSI Antarctica.” “Nope,” I say, still avoiding his crumpled face. “Must have had my ringer off.”
“I was worried, you know?” A whine creeps into his voice. “About you, Macy.
Did he just actually call me by my first name? “Sorry,” I say, meaning it. Kind of. “I didn’t know.” I shrug.
Fred crosses his arms, tapping the toe of his sneaker. “You didn’t know? You just ran out of here,” he says, then, lowering his voice, adds, “right after we, you know…kissed. I didn’t know where you went. I was worried sick. Mario…was worried sick.” He looks around the empty café as if trying to find some other people who were also worried sick. Finding none, he points a finger at me, his voice rising an octave. “You just can’t do that to people. You know, worry them sick.”
I resist the urge to ask Fred how long it took for him to save up for this guilt trip. Barely. For some reason, I can’t bring myself to cut him off at the knees. I’ve never known Fred to be so inarticulate. Like he’s really, truly upset. I mean, we’re talking about a guy who can bitch slap someone with a back-handed comment from across the room. And here he stands, blathering on and on about being worried sick. I’d expect this from Granny, not him.
“I want you to read them,” he says, puffing out his chest like a rooster exerting his dominance. “My texts. Read them now.”
“Why?” Crap! Did I erase them last night? Think, Macy. Think. I’ve got to stall. “So I can read about how concerned you were, over and over and over again? In case you haven’t noticed, Fred, you’ve made your point. I get it. You were upset.”
A jingle behind me announces the arrival of the morning’s first customer. Except we’re not ready. Not even close. I glance at the wall clock and it’s too early, but neither of us locked the door behind me when I came in.
“Sorry, we’re not open yet,” Fred announces authoritatively. I actually find it kind of hot when he talks like that, all bossy like.
A twenty-something ginger in a sleek suit with a tie decorated in small black skulls designed to communicate to the rest of the world that he’s a “rebel” enters the café anyway. Pulling out a chair, he says to no one in particular, “The door’s open.”
Fred steps around me and is in the guy’s face in a split second. He pushes the chair back against the table. Pointing to the door, he says, “The sign says we open at 7:00 a.m.” Then motioning to the Sarasota clock, he barks, “The clock says it’s 6:47 a.m. We’re. Not. Open. Yet.”
“Come on, coffee boy. You gonna tell me I can’t hang out for the next thirteen…wait, twelve minutes.” He chomps his gum, daring Fred to ask him to leave.
Fred looks down at his sneakers. His tight-lipped sneer – the one I know and love – taking up residence on his face. He then diverts his attention to the pocked ceiling tiles, inhaling deeply. I know he’s counting to ten. He told me they taught him to do that in his anger management classes. Fred either counted really fast or only made it to six because, after just a few seconds, he returns his gaze to the suit and, tilting his head menacingly, says, “Yes. I am going to ask you to leave until we open in twelve minutes.” I’m impressed that he manages to keep his tone steady, so…professional. Almost polite.
The ginger backs up, his jaw thrusting upwards defiantly. He unbuttons his suit jacket and slips it off, laying it over the back of the chair in front of him. “Really? You think you’re the boss of me, coffee boy?” he taunts as he loosens his tie. He takes in Fred’s dark skin, the texture of his hair, then sneers, “Shouldn’t you be working for your folks in mini-mart somewhere, Kumar?” I inch away towards the counter and the kitchen beyond. Maybe Peter’s general appearance and annoyance-factor will be sufficient to chase this guy off. Otherwise, Fred might just get his ass kicked in the next minute or so.
But my movement captures the jerk’s attention. “Hey, Blondie,” he says, “why don’t you go fetch me a tall, skinny caramel macchiato? And make sure it’s hot.”
I knew this guy was a jerk the second he walked in – and now it turns out he’s a racist, a chauvinist, and he’s ordering a foo foo girlie drink, to boot. What a tool! It’s too much for me to remain silent. I really want to let Fred handle it and be the big man, but no one tells me to “fetch” anything. “Fetch this, asshole!” I say, pumping my hand up and down like I’m shaking an imaginary can of spray paint – except it’s not supposed to be a can of spray paint. “Hot enough for you, prick?” I stomp over to the front door, yanking it open. Then I wait. The suit finally saunters over, plucking his gum from his mouth and dropping it on the floor between us.
“You sure about this, sweetheart?” he jeers, his breath a mixture of mint and something soured. “I guarantee you I make more in a day that your boyfriend here makes in month.” He’s right in my face. So close. The whites of his eyes red and watery. I’d bet the farm he was on a bender last night.
“Make more of what?” I manage to ask innocently. “Big Macs?” The guy clenches his jaw, but I don’t stop. “No, you’re a mover and shaker. I’m gonna guess, fries. You’re in charge of fries, right?”
“Stupid bitch,” he says, his face contorting from that of a relatively good-looking guy into the scornful leer of a trust-fund jackhole. I want to step away, but I’m backed up against the open door, the handle pressing painfully into my kidneys. Before I can pivot sideways, he grabs my chin tightly between his fingers forcing me to stare into his roadmap eyes. Every finger feels like a knife stab, but the thumb is the killer, pressing into my skin so fiercely I’m afraid it will cut through my cheek and I’ll taste the ammonia stink of his skin.“You’ll be lucky to get a job on a street corner spreading your legs when I’m done with you.”
I’ve got to get away. I’m about to knee him in the groin, but before I can, I see something white, about the size of a softball, whiz by my head and connect with the guy’s cheek. He grabs his face in pain as the mug drops like a stone from its point of impact, smashing into a hundred pieces at our feet.
“Fuck!” he screams. “You threw a mug at me!” Shaking with fury, he releases his grip on my jaw and points at Fred. “Do you know who I am? Do you? That’s it. I’m calling the cops. You just bought yourself a one-way ticket to jail, buddy,” he sneers, wiping a drop of blood off his face, then shaking his hand so that it spatters onto the floor.
“Go ahead,” Fred says in a calm, ominous voice. “When they get here, you can explain the marks you left on her face.” The guy grabs his jacket off of the chair, sneaking a glance at the puffy, red bruise appearing on my jaw line. His eye already beginning to swell, he hesitates for a second, clearly considering his odds. Fred picks up another mug, holding it as though he is weighing its heft in his hands. “You got two seconds to get out of here or you’re gonna find out why they called me ‘The Rocket’ when I pitched back in high school.”
A crazy image of Fred wearing a baseball cap with a wad of chaw in his mouth suddenly pops into my mind and I nearly laugh out loud. Fred is such a liar. He wouldn’t know a baseball from a cantalope. Still, I’m hoping the guy just splits because, to be honest, this is the first time I’ve ever seen Fred engage in the coffee cup toss as an Olympic sport. His experience, to date, has been as a catcher for my right hooks, not a pitcher. “Well, I’m late for a meeting,” the guy says, wiping away another trickle of blood with the back if his hand from the gash below his left eye, “so today’s your lucky day.” He cocks an imaginary gun at Fred and shoots.
“Don’t come back, man,” Fred says, his eyes steely, heavy mug still resting in his palm. “Ever.” The guy slips his suit jacket back on and, without a backwards glance, storms out of the café, the glass door banging shut loudly in his wake.
The slam and piercing ringing of the bell draws Peter out from the kitchen for a second time. “Wha’ did I say about da schtupid dur?”
Without hesitation, Fred and I shout, “Shut up, Peter!” By the time I bolt the front door, Peter has returned to his floury hellhole and Fred is by my side.
“You okay?” he says, his brow wrinkled with concern. He picks a stray shard of ceramic mug off my shoulder, and then lets his hand rest there, heavy and warm.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Thanks to you.” I stare at my dark red boots, noticing they’re nearly the same color of the guy’s blood that dots the floor like a dusting of paprika. The gum he dropped on the floor is gone. He must have stepped on it on the way out. For some reason, this makes me want to giggle. Forget that the jackhole totally got beaned in the face with a mug. Now he’s got gum on his tassled loafers.
Fred stuffs his hands into his pockets in one awkward move, and my shoulder feels bare and chilly. I want to tell him to put it back. No, what I really want him to do is to wrap both of his skinny arms around me so I can rest my cheek on his shoulder and think about nothing at all for just five minutes. But I don’t. For the life of me, I can’t think of a single thing to say. Fred rocks back and forth on his heels, his eyes locked on the blood spatters. It’s the only thing that ties us together right now. I dare not look away because it’s our link. If we had wands, the ginger’s blood would be the point at which the light shooting from their tips intersects and merges into one beam. We stay like this for what seems like hours, but is really only a minute or two.
Finally, Fred clears his throat and mumbles something about cleaning up the floor. Taking a step back, he breaks the current, but I can’t let him. Lunging forward, I grab him around his waist, pressing myself against his ribcage, one of his arms trapped beneath my bear hug. For a second, I rest my head on his shoulder and inhale deeply, smelling soap and hair mousse. Fred rubs my back gently with his free hand, leaning into me. His heartbeat drums faintly against my breasts. But none of this makes me feel safe.
Fred came through for me once again, but I still feel trapped like I’m back on the bus this morning, all of the uncertainty in my life right now clouding my brain. How is it that the one friggin’ person in the world charged with the job of saving Earth from total annihilation has to be rescued all the time? Didn’t I save China, like, a half hour ago?
***
Copyright 2011 Cristy Carrington Lewis
No portion of this manuscript may be shared or reprinted without the exclusive permission, in writing, from the author.
This is an original piece of fiction. Any similarity to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
***
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This bears a distinct resemblance to me when I was a barista and saved China from slightly more than partial anhiliation. Not a blond though, so we’ll let it slide.
Its catchy! Want more. When publishing? When kindle-ing? When does the movie open?
Well, of course, it’s based on you and your days as a world-saving barista.
Ok, now you’re just freaking me out! How did you know?! hehehe. I want to read of Peter meeting his demise. Always hated his scones.
I like it…I want to read more. The interaction between the charaters flows well, the dialogue is good, all in all a compelling chapter. You are doing a great job and I hope you land an agent and a publisher soon.
You are going the traditional route to publication and not the indie route? What are your thoughts about the two options? It seems like everyone is going indie these days, I’d like to hear a different take on the issue.
If you are looking for reviewers for when the book comes out, I’d like to volunteer…
Thanks so much for offering to review the book. I received really strong feedback (positive) from agents when I first sent this out, but I stopped submitting it due to moving and a lengthy illness from which I am now recovered. So I’m planning on going the traditional route, but it doesn’t mean one is better than the other. I’d just prefer to spend more of my time writing as opposed to handling ALL the promotion for my own book. So glad you enjoyed it.
Loved this. Very engaging, very enjoyable read. I think the amount of dialogue is perfect. Peter’s accent is a little tricky for me to place, but then, I’m not that well travelled. When-oh-when will this be published?
Not sure. My crystal ball is in the shop! But I’m so glad that you liked it.
I more than liked it, but it’s kind of early in the day to gush about anything.
I spent last week on a “vacation” from both work and blogging. I was trying to work on my book, and after a few fits and starts, I actually built up some momentum and wrote a few pages. I’ve still got miles and miles to go.
I know I’ll have something if someone reads a single chapter and wants to know more about what happens next.
Obviously, you’ve reached that point and beyond with the snippet you teased us all with today.
Thanks. I wish I could release the whole thing, chapter by chapter, on the blog, but I have a feeling that editors wouldn’t be as interested if I did. But I’m thrilled to hear that you’d like to read more!
Glad that you got some of your own writing done. Keep it up!
Thanks for the pep talk. I’m going to keep at it.
Interesting, bring to mind the Odd Thomas series by Koontz.
Found a typo: Probably because he such a kiss ass.
Sorry, I can’t read anything without editing, it’s a cross I bear!
I’d rather you find my typo than an editor or agent. Thanks, Tammie!
I’ve never read that series. I’ll have to check it out.
Oh, Odd Thomas was great!
oops, well let’s just say I edit everything I read that is written by someone other than me! I am apparently lousy at editing myself. Cheers!
Aren’t we all?
I can’t wait for the book!! Thanks for giving us a look see.
I’m almost done with mine and am going to load it on amazon and B&N and then go the traditional route if the reviews are ok. It may suck for all I know….lol
Good luck with yours. My fingers are crossed for you!
Fabulous! So glad to see my old friend Macy again. The publication clock is surely ticking down on this wonderful book. At your first reading, I’ll be in the front row in a red dress holding a martini shaker. And yes, I have a take out model.
Yes, you will! Especially since you are one of the only people out there who have read the entire manuscript. Yes, folks…a couple sets of eyes have seen the entire thing. WSW, would you say that this is one of the least exciting chapters in the book?
Well Johnny, I would say it is representative of the general excellence of the book, which is beautifully written and exciting from cover to cover.
But what does Ed think about it?
Ed thinks what you tell him to think, of course.
Loved it! Would def read it all! Can’t wait till its published!
Thanks so much. Glad you liked it!
I’m leaving a comment of support without reading the chapter because I’m gonna read ALL your chapters. So proud of you BB…xoxo
Thanks, bestie. Can’t wait to hear what you think.
I found it really engaging and want to read more. You wove in the descriptive elements of the characters (Peter and the ginger asshole) without being obvious and I loved that you used ‘accusatorily’ instead of ‘accusingly’. I’m curious why you shortened Fareed’s name to Fred instead of keeping him Fareed?
Unfortunately, you’re going to have to read the book to find out. So glad that you enjoyed it, though!
It’s good, and it hooked me easily. I like the use of the present tense. Makes me feel like I’m there. Your similes and metaphors are spot on—none of them look forced.
If I could offer some constructive criticism, stop drawing conclusions while describing situations. For example, Fred backs away, his brow creased with concern. “Are you drunk?” he accuses, sniffing the air like a bloodhound. Here, ‘his brow creased’ implies that he’s concerned. We readers draw that conclusion on our own. Even two extra words make the writing bloated. Same thing with puffing out his chest like a rooster exerting his dominance. Again, ‘puffed chest’ conveys the dominance part. And the reader appreciates the richness in the writing because it made him think.
Also, when you say jostle, you don’t need to add against.
But even this came after a lot of nitpicking. Overall, it’s great. And I could be totally wrong about my criticisms, so please take them with a grain of salt.
BTW: I got a domain name, so liberalcynic is now bharatwrites.
Aha! I thought you sounded familiar. Actually, these are great editing tips…and we all know that I can use a little editing when it comes to my writing. Seriously, thank you. I’m working an a little rewrite before I begin querying again. I’ll definitely consider your suggestions. Want to edit the entire thing?
Sure. No problem.
I’ve edited this chapter; it’s just something I do. Yes I know it’s geeky, but sometimes messing with the words in an article or a post helps me understand it more. Is there an email account I can send it to?
Enjoyed! Liked the descriptions and the visuals. It’s like a dialed-back version of your blog writing. One tiny observation and of course it has to do with the ceramic mug… not sure if pieces of a mug that his a face, then shattered on the ground would fly up as high as her shoulder. And not only fly, but land? Maybe Fred could brush her hair or something instead? But that’s just me, thinknig about the poor dead mug…
*hit* a face, *thinking*
First, thanks for the compliment! Glad you enjoyed it. Second, thanks for the observation. It’s a good point. You never want to have things in your fiction that leave the reader saying, “Huh? I don’t think so!” I’m working on a revision, so I may just incorporate your suggestion. Thanks again!
What made you decide to do this story in first person present tense? I found it difficult to read but I will attempt it again.
I initially wrote it as a YA book and it’s very popular to write them in first person. You know how teens are…it’s all about them and they tend to like their books in first person present tense. It can be difficult for an adult if you’re not accustomed to it. I’d always written in third person before, but now I have to work at it because I so easily revert into the first person present voice.
In addition, for this particular novel, I think first person present is appropriate because I really wanted the reader to see things through Macy’s eyes – as they were happening to her. What occurs in her life is utterly amazing, shocking, unbelievable, funny and sometimes harsh – and first person takes the reader there with Macy in the moment. People have told me that it almost feels like it’s happening to them, instead of Macy.
I initially wrote it as a YA book and it’s very popular to write them in first person. You know how teens are…it’s all about them and they tend to like their books in first person present tense. It can be difficult for an adult if you’re not accustomed to it. I’d always written in third person before, but now I have to work at it because I so easily revert into the first person present voice.
In addition, for this particular novel, I think first person present is appropriate because I really wanted the reader to see things through Macy’s eyes – as they were happening to her. What occurs in her life is utterly amazing, shocking, unbelievable, funny and sometimes harsh – and first person takes the reader there with Macy in the moment. People have told me that it almost feels like it’s happening to them, instead of Macy.
The feedback I’ve received also indicates that readers feel this book is a crossover piece between mature YA and literary fiction suitable for adults. Of course, it’s hard for you guys to see that since I’ve only shared one chapter with you, but the book deals with a lot of major issues including religion, death, the universe, the existence or non-existence of God, faith in oneself, disappointment, abandonment and, of course, a little bit of love thrown in.
I finished reading it Cristy. It was an excellent chapter. I see what you are saying with the first person present tense. It didn’t bother me after I got going.
I feel akward giving you any criticism or advice on your piece because I believe you are infinitely more talented than me. Let’s just say these are my opinions.
I feel you’re a little heavy on the adverbs. There were a few times I felt that you missed a chance to use an action verb. And sometimes they weren’t needed at all.
“he grabs my chin tightly between his fingers ”
You could use clamps, crushes, seizes, or snatches instead of grabs tightly.
“with a wad of chaw in his mouth suddenly pops into my mind”
I think you could remove suddenly from the sentence and it would read the same.
Other than that it is great! You did really well using speech tags and your pronouns vs proper names are spread evenly. I only say these things because I JUST started writing this year and I get dinged on that stuff a lot.
Remeber I am no English expert and I feel weird about giving you critiques. They are my opinions so take them with a grain of salt. Good Luck Cristy! I will definitely be buying a copy.
Thanks so much for the feedback. I think you’re right. Your observation about my use of adverbs is absolutely, totally, and completely correct. Sorry…couldn’t resist. Please don’t hesitate to critique me because every writer benefits from improving and honing his craft. Especially me. I knew there was a reason I put this chapter out there for you guys to read; my subscribers are talented writers who know their stuff. Seriously, thank you again!
Sent from my Samsung Epic™ 4G
Your welcome Cristy. Glad I could help out.
A novel! This is amazing! I wish I could do that. Mucho impressed, Cristy.
You CAN do that! Everything you write is like a mini-novel.
Well, Creepy is convenient because I can wrap up each story within 750 words. Hehehe. Besides, I’m focusing on my other blog Expatria these days.
So what made you initially write for young adults? And I presume this has been abandoned, with all the naughty swears through
The story is equally compelling for BIG adults. I have used first person writing a lot, and I think it can be really effective. It really draws you into the character’s psyche, which has worked well with your piece.
Any criticisms would only be nitpicking from me, and you’ve already received some constructive comments from the blogging community. Overall, I think it’s really well written and really draws the reader in. I desperately want to know how Macy “saved the world”!
It is just full of funny and clever insults. I enjoyed reading it and actually laughed at some of the insults. The one about rabies tags was the first to make me laugh. The characters did display some other emotions so it wasn’t totally confrontations and insults. I read more for the character development and plot so I don’t have any advice on sentence structure or grammer. None of your sentences were really awkward to read.
I didn’t totally understand the fetch this part. I have some idea of what the gesture is supposed to mean but the connection to fetching is lost to me. That could easily just be me though.
I”d like to read the whole book. It did pass the test – meaning that if sparked my interest enough to want to read more.
Best of luck to you in finding a publisher and making lots of dough.
Thanks, Melanie. I’ll send it to you so you can read it on your Kindle. I’m glad you liked it enough to want to read it.
You just want me to find a publisher so that I’ll become insanely rich, thereby making your brother insanely rich. So rich, in fact, that he’ll be able to retire and then we’ll fly out to Oklahoma all the time – or we’ll fly you to exotic locales while I do book signings and attend conferences.
Thanks, Melanie. I’ll send it to you so you can read it on your Kindle. I’m glad you liked it enough to want to read it.
You just want me to find a publisher so that I’ll become insanely rich, thereby making your brother insanely rich. So rich, in fact, that he’ll be able to retire and then we’ll fly out to Oklahoma all the time – or we’ll fly you to exotic locales while I do book signings and attend conferences.
P.S. Regarding insults, I learned from the best.
All my love,
Your Cherokee Princess
Late to the party, but loved it. Looking forward to the entire novel, someday. And, I second the nomination to read the Odd Thomas novels.
Hurry up and get published! This is a novel I wanna go out and get a copy of.
It’s my dream to one day write my own novel, so I’m so happy for you. I can imagine how awesome it must feel to have finally finished it and feel that sense of accomplishment.
Thanks so much! You should write a novel. And you’re right, you feel an amazing sense of accomplishment when you’re done. What’s holding you back? Just take it a page at at time and you’ll get there.
I’ve started several times, but I only got up to around 20 pages before I felt like it was just bad, or I couldn’t take the plot any further. I want the novel to express how I think and how I feel, but most of all I want it to be good. And urgh, let’s just say my confidence is a work in progress.
I wrote my entire novel without an outline. Don’t worry if you think it sucks after 20 pages; just keep writing. That’s what revisions are for. The important thing is to write and not give up. Check in with me weekly and I’ll bug you, erm…encourage you, about your progress if you like!
Thank you! I’ll start writing today
I’ll hold you to that. Have you got a title?
I do actually.
And Still It Moves. I know it may not make sense out of context like this, but it’s perfect for the story.
I think that’s a fantastic title!
Not only will I buy this, BUT I will write you a glowing review on Amazon. It take place somewhere I’ve lived, which is entertainment enough for me, but I’m also intrigued about your high concept.
Why thank you! I’m hoping to go the traditional publishing route.
Did you live in Sarasota?
I did and it was glorious.
We have much to discuss. I sent you another email.
This is the first time I’ve commented on a stranger’s blog – your writing really impresses me! Your chapter is excellent. It’s fresh, creative, and I want to read more!
Thanks so much, Kathryn! Hopefully, when I finish up my rewrite, I’ll find an agent and he or she will get it sold for me so that you can read the whole thing. Thanks again for stopping by.
I’m a baby blogger and so thank you for the inspiration!
You’re so welcome.