Damaged Goods: Prologue

Here's the new prologue for Damaged Goods... I feel so giddy about this one! Seriously excited every time I write in it... we're now at 67,000 words in this Chick Lit. Comments are always a plus!

PROLOGUE

Harden’s face is swollen with fury, anger seeping through the slits of his eyes – he wants to kill me. I can’t let him. I must live so they can live. My only chance are the two things in my hands – a gun and Annabelle’s throat.

Handed to me only moments ago, the gun will either save my life or end it. I’ve watched this scene play out too many times in the movies. One second the girl has the gun and control, the next it’s in the bad guys hands and she’s begging for her life. This is where Annabelle comes in.

“You don’t want to do this,” he says with arrogance. He’s right.

I take in a deep breath, drawing on what little strength I have left, and say, “Clearly you don’t know what the hell I want. If you did, my family would be here holding you fucking hostage. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

His stare doesn’t waver, forcing me to squeeze her neck tighter. Annabelle, continuing her struggle under me, pleads with her father, “Daddy, I don’t want to die. Please Daddy, give her what she wants.”

This apparently, convinces him. “Leave her alone.”

“Or what?” Annabelle gurgles with perfect timing. “Are you going to deliver them or not?” I demand.

He slumps his shoulders and the tightness of his eyes relax. His confidence evaporates with a soft exhale. The transformation of power is complete and I use my new position of strength and hiss, “I mean it. They’d better not have so much as a scratch or I’m going to fuck her up. It won’t make us even, but I’ll be satisfied.” Again, I tighten my grip. “Do you hear me, asshole?”

He lowers his head into his hands and whispers, “What is the right choice?”

In this moment, the most intense moment of my life, I remember Tim’s words on that fateful day, “It’s a choice.” It was a choice and it still is and I realize this is my new life. The one I’d been searching for, the one offering love, excitement, and acceptance. No, Harden will not win this battle. Again, I wrench her neck, tighter than before and more believable.

Damaged Goods, Chapter 1

"Ms. Clarke, are you listening to me?”

Huh? Ms. Clarke? I’m Ms. Clarke. Damn, did she ask me something? Okay, put the pencil down, raise your head and be calm, “Um, yes?”

“Ms. Clarke, did you hear the question you were asked? Or shall I repeat myself?”
Ah man, she’s really pissed. Why does this always happen to me?

“Umm,” the blank faces of the droids all staring in my direction, like the corner of this room is all of a sudden interesting. Not hardly. They’re staring not because they’re irritated with me for not paying attention, the way Mrs. McElroy is, but they’re waiting for me to blow it again. I swear the woman gets some sort of evil gratification whenever she can embarrass me. She is well aware that I have no desire to listen to her rant about the importance of dividing and factoring poly-whatever’s. Seriously! And I’m not the only one in here who feels this way. I am, however, the only idiot who can’t keep my head up, or focused enough, to avoid drawing her attention.

“Yes ma’am.” I finally squeak out.

“Yes, what?”

“Huh?” Am I confused? She asked me a question and I answered it. Did I miss something?
            Pointing her beak in my direction, she said, “I asked you if you heard the question or if I needed to repeat it. You said ‘yes’. So is that a ‘yes’ you heard the question? Or a ‘yes’ you need me to repeat it?”

“Oh. Um, yes I need you to repeat it.”

Okay, so she asked me a question and I answered it, so why is she turning red? I swear the woman looks like she is going to explode, which wouldn’t surprise me really since she is a mere five feet nothing and round as a peach, so her exploding might actually be kind of funny. I mean, really? This is math. It’s not like I’m ever going to use it once I leave high school. Sure, I’ll need to add and stuff like that, but anything more can totally be done on a calculator. So why is she so serious about it? Better yet, why is it even a required subject in school? It should be replaced with something useful like how to patch up the gnarly hole in my favorite jeans without making them look like hand-me-downs. Or how to deal when your best friend, since you were two, died when he was only sixteen? I mean really, Algebra? Yeah, I’m focused on that.

The Flower Garden, Ch. 27 -- your thoughts are appreciated

The anger took hold of me, shoving away any sense of reason as I headed straight for the front door. I didn’t care how angry my dad was going to be once he realized I had snuck out; he was just going to have to deal with it. This is about Josh now. He is being wrongly accused and I will not let it happen.

I burst into the living room, causing all three men to jump to their feet in surprise. Standing nearest to me was Larry Tucker. Next to him was my dad and at the far side of the couch stood his retched son, Nathan. His face looked like a pomegranate. It was purple and swollen. Josh had beaten the hell out of him that night and I could see, from the looks of him, why his lie is believable. I launched right in, “You shameful piece of crap. How dare you come into my home, the place where I live, and try to turn my own father against me!” I was still standing in the entryway, when I slammed the door shut, hard.

A look of shock and horror was prominently placed on the faces of both my dad and Nathan; however, Larry’s expression was strangely ineffable. He spoke first, “Hello, Lizzie. We were just talking about you.” He looked to my father for input but dad remained still, unsure of my next move. 

I charged Larry but then stopped abruptly at the back of the couch, “Don’t you dare talk to my father as if he is on your side. He will never side with your piece of garbage son. I don’t care how much money you throw at him.” I glared at Nathan, gauging his reaction.

Larry tried a falsely calm approach, “Lizzie, I really don’t know what you’re talking about. I only offered to help your father out financially with the lawyers to protect you.”

“Protect me? Liar! You’re not trying to protect me. You’re trying to protect your son.”I shot my index finger in Nathan’s direction and looked at him as I spoke, “You did this to me. How dare you put the blame on Josh. How dare you! He saved me from you. I want you out of my house. Out of my life! Do you understand me? Get out!” I was screaming at the top of my lungs now and sure the neighbor’s would hear, even with the door shut.

“Honey, please don’t do this. Larry and Nate are only trying to help you, to help us. I know you’re angry and confused but you shouldn’t take it out on the people who care about you and want to help.”

            I was past listening to my dad’s blind words as he defended my attacker. I couldn’t really blame him too much since he was still in so much denial, but as dad and I stood there, watching Nathan’s eyes dart in undeniable panic between his father and I, my own father’s head twitched slightly and I knew he got it. He was much more in tuned to the situation than I had given him credit for - he was beginning to see the truth.

Fearing Copy Editors

Though I'm still working on the agent stage, I'm completely terrified of copy editors! I have yet to be critiqued  by someone at that level, still, the opinion of a copy editor can say entirely too much about my writing - like, does it suck? I mean, of course, the copy editor can come back with glowing edits, but somehow I doubt that. Either way, I'm editing my own work for now and learning to be opinionated without killing my voice.


Stacia Kane has a great article today on her Blog aptly titled - Edits: Working with Trolls http://www.staciakane.net/2011/02/07/edits-working-with-trolls/ 

Trying to find the time & How To Use Twitter

Lately, I've been so slammed at work that my writing has been put on the back burner. My wonderful husband has been encouraging me to write while I'm at home, but I'm so exhausted after work and I just want to spend that time with him and the kids. This leaves editing of Damaged Goods to occur only on the weekends. In my mind, I hope one day I can turn this book writing thing into my day job but, for now, it will remain as my weekend gig.

As a side note: I love Nathan Bransford's blog today on How To Use Twitter. Have a read - 
http://blog.nathanbransford.com/2011/01/how-to-use-twitter.html

The Great Debate -- To Self-publish or not

After completing The Flower Garden I immediately began to send query letters. A few agencies requested pages but, before long, I had moved on to Damaged Goods. I still have high hopes for TFG; however, I can see that DG will get a lot more play. The story is much more engaging, the characters have taken on a life of their own, and the novel definitely has legs! For me the great debate is if I should even consider self-publishing. I THINK NOT! I have faith in my writing and am searching for an agent who will read my stories and feel the same passion I feel for my characters. If I don't find that right agent (they're missing out!) I won't stop writing my beloved stories... but I will continue to allow my family and friends to read them.

What are your thoughts? Find the right agent or go on my own?