The Excerpt:

Watch for a new chapter of my serial novel soon!

Claudia Barry owned Manhattan’s West 33rd Street.

She stayed close to the buildings, away from the crowds, aware of every face. Every movement got her attention. It was an old habit and hard to break. It had kept her alive. She took deliberate strides toward 8th Street.

The drizzle had stopped, the skies were still overcast, and the sidewalk wet. It would have been impossible for her to miss the action fifty feet ahead of her.

The Big News:

This week’s sample is the first eight sentences from A Year Without Killing (my third book.) It recently was selected as a finalist in the East Texas Writers Guild’s First Chapter Book Awards.

According to Roger Middleton, president of the Guild, “We received an overwhelming number of entries from around the world, including authors submitting from Australia, Great Britain, Canada, Cyprus, Italy, South Africa, Arkansas, California, Connecticut, Florida, Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Louisiana, Massachusetts, Mississippi, Missouri, New Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, South Carolina, and Texas.”

Each entry was judged by three different judges from a panel representing, editors, authors, educators, and avid book readers. An additional three judges were brought in to select winners from the finalists.

Read the entire first chapter of A Year Without Killing, HERE.

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Join us here at Weekend Writing Warriors.The  same link will take you to the work of dozens of talented writers. For a treat, please check out their work, too.

Many of the contributors to Weekend Writing Warriors also

participate in the Snippet Sunday group on FaceBook.

The Eight Sentences:(Well, nine, I rarely go over the limit. Maybe the moderators will be tolerant.)

“It’s a somnambulistic trance,” blurted Barger.

Dryden spoke up, “Where did that come from? First you reported  the sheriff getting murdered and then all of a sudden you hit us with one of your big-ass words.”

“Well it isn’t that big of a word. I’ve heard of it,” said White.

“And the sheriff didn’t get murdered anyway. It was the police chief and Barger said he bought it in a shootout,” said Scully.

Dryden replied, “It sure as hell sounded like one of his Tourette moments to me.”

Barger was ready to rejoin the fray, “You’re both correct. It was one of my moments but it wasn’t something out of Mrs. Byrne’s Dictionary. A somnambulistic trance is like when you’re driving down the freeway in complete control of your vehicle and aware of everything around you, but your thoughts are elsewhere–didn’t you ever drive right past your exit that you’ve taken for years?”

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The Setup:

From Chapter Twenty-two my my current serial novel, A Year Without Killing. In this scene, members of the League of Old Men are talking. Hawk Barger’s “condition” has just shown itself. This was introduced in a previous chapter and snippet. He suffers from acquired savant syndrome and often comes out with unusual words at the most inopportune times. In this case, I wrote this scene to immediately follow a scene at the end of the previous chapter in which Star Braun experiences the trance to which Barger makes reference.

NOTE: Mrs. Byrne’s Dictionary will be the subject of a future blog.

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Many of the contributors to Weekend Writing Warriors also

The Eight Sentences:

Walkers(with the green awning)=Mayberry Soda Shoppe. Notice the open space awaits our guys from LOOM.

White had listened to the conversation and at the same time, looked up Mt. Airy on his Smartphone, “Tripadvisor has a bunch of good ratings for the Mayberry Soda Fountain. It’s on Main Street so it should be easy enough to locate–it’s also known as Walkers.”

Barger smiled at Dryden and said, “Maybe we’ll run into Barney Fife and he can tell us all about the Hummer that did a flip into the New River near Austinville.”

Dryden winked and said, “Yeah, and maybe you can use some of that two hundred bucks you won to buy us lunch.”

Scully executed a perfect parallel park and the four men walked into the restaurant. As they walked in, Barger asked, “How did you get lucky enough to find a space right in front of the restaurant?”

Scully smiled, patted his obese friend on the back as he waddled through the door and answered, “They saved it for me.”

The Set Up:

In this clip, readers learn the result of Hawk’s bet with Mr. White along with my choice of how to handle the scene. I chose this route rather than a detailed description of the shot, the bullet crashing through the windshield, and the explosion of the driver’s head. I think my readers can figure out what happened without a review of the blood, the guts, and the gore. Writing a scene like this is, for me, analogous to writing a sex scene. Everyone knows what happens between the sheets. It’s more fun if it happens in the readers’ imagination anyway. Feedback, please.

You got eight sentences?

Join us here at Weekend Writing Warriors.The  same link will take you to the work of dozens of talented writers. For a treat, please check out their work, too.

Many of the contributors to Weekend Writing Warriors also

participate in the Snippet Sunday group on Facebook.

Hawk Barger’s “testosterone truck.”

The Eight Sentences:

“If it’s the same car load of idiots we saw at the airport, they shouldn’t be surprised at anything we throw at them–I’m a bit surprised they came back for another dose. Want me to slow down and let them pull up beside us,” asked Scully, “they’re in the other lane.”

Barger reached around to his left side and unholstered a Smith and Wesson .44 magnum revolver with a seven-and-half-inch barrel, “I can take out the driver with one shot.”

Dryden said, “That gun barrel’s probably longer’n your dick. You got a big Harley, a big gun, and I bet you got a big four-wheel-drive pickup truck, too, to compensate.”

White held up a C-note, “I got a hundred bucks says you’ll miss that driver with one shot.”

Barger took the bet, “Make it two hundred and you’ve got a bet, Mr. White.

Barger rolled down the window, leaned out and leveled his big gun at the Hummer.

The Back Story:

We introduced the League of Old Men (LOOM), HERE, last year.

In this week’s snippet, we catch the action as four of their members are about to face an adversarial group for the second time in one morning. Their previous encounter was the subject of this snippet.

This excerpt and the next few will be from my third novel, A Year Without Killing which is now in it’s serial run.

NOTE:  Mr. White is of no relation to the “Mr. White” in Reservoir Dogs. He is, however, a distant relative of Bud White. Without the aid of your search engine, who remembers who Bud White was?

HINT: Bud White is a fictitious character from a big movie a few years ago.

Hit us with your best shot! 

Join us here at Weekend Writing Warriors.The  same link will take you to the work of dozens of talented writers. For a treat, please check out their work, too.

Here’s the Facebook link for the Sunday Snippett group.

The serialization of A Year Without Killing begins today.

Follow the further adventures of Claudia Barry in the sequel to, “The Tourist Killer.”

Watch for two chapters a week, HERE.

A Year Without Killing is book three of the Barry-Hixon Conspiracy series and is the sequel to The Tourist Killer.

I hope you enjoy and share with your friends.

Feedback appreciated!

The Chelsea Hotel New York City

The Eight Sentences:

The Big Apple was abuzz with more than the usual summer vacation crowds in June of 1976. Claudia Barry walked up to the front desk at the Chelsea Hotel in New York City.

“May I help you?” the slender attendant asked. He was tall and thin and had an uncanny resemblance to Anthony Perkins.
Claudia thought to herself, “God, I hope his name isn’t Bates.”
“I have reservations.”
They completed the paperwork and Norman gave her the key to her room. As she was turning to go to the elevator, he said, “Oh, Miss Berry.”
“It’s ‘Barry.’ Yes? What is it?”
“I almost forgot. There’s a message for you. It came in a few hours before you arrived.”

The Set Up:

Claudia had been on the train from Boston for over four hours. New York City was crowded with the usual summer vacationers multiplied this year by those arriving early in anticipation of the Bicentennial Celebration in a few weeks. It was a great time for her to be in town. She could disappear with ease in the throng.

The morning after she arrived began a personal challenge. She had two self-assignments. First, she wanted to infiltrate the wait staff of the Waldorf Astoria Hotel, and for at least a few hours, become one of them — as a male. It was important for her thesis to show, how using deception, timing, and disguise, she could move in close to important people in spite of security. Second, her next goal would be to disappear from the premises undetected. Her effective use of group dynamics would be put to the test. She’d have to rely on an unplanned diversion to occur — unless she could come up with something on the spur of the minute.

Open Call for Writers:

Join us here at Weekend Writing Warriors.

The Eight Sentences:

Biloxi Beach, Mississipi, circa 1947 This man is my mental image of Mr. Debert.

“Yes and it’s nice to meet someone who knows French, you never know these days.”
“I spent several years in the Deep South — Louisiana, they speak a little French down there.”
“I know,” his voice was a rich baritone, almost bass, soft yet confident — and so masculine — he could have been the man of her dreams.
“How would you know that?”, she asked.
“I’ve followed you for several years now,” Debert said, “It isn’t easy to keep track of your movements, but then you try so hard.” He could see that she was becoming uneasy with that revelation, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”
“I like your voice,” she commented, “You seem mysterious and, at the same time, charming.”
There was a twinkle in his eye, and he smiled again.

The Back Story:

There were two men in the life of Claudia Barry that had earned her respect and trust. The older of the two had been around for years, although they had not had the opportunity for much conversation since a lunch meeting in New Jersey in the fall of 1976. It had always been an occasional fleeting glance. Then one icy day in January of 1999, Claudia was dining alone at her favorite Irish pub, the Tir na nOg in downtown Manhattan, across from Penn Station when he walked up to her table. The snippet above comes from their conversation.

An Invitation to Join Us:

The Eight Sentences:

“You know my history and accomplishments. Not many shooters — regardless of sex — have the resume I’ve acquired and my vision is remarkable for any human. When I chose this career, it was obvious that I would never be in the limelight. I’ll be happy to be just as anonymous as you.” Claudia had resigned herself to anonymity even before the choice of professions. She had taken herself out of the fight for women’s rights with the selection of careers, because she couldn’t attract attention to herself advocating any issue publicly and then hope to reach the upper echelons of her craft. She could, and did, find ways to make financial contributions to the cause. After her first few jobs, she had stashed away enough funds to live happily ever after when and — if she ever retired.

The Set Up:

 My third novel, A Year Without Killing, will debut in December on my publisher’s site as a serial. One chapter at a time will be presented twice a week.

November will see a big promotion for The Tourist Killer to build interest in the sequel. In conjunction with these events, my snippets will be excerpts from The Tourist Killer’s flashbacks. Each of the seven parts of the book begins with a flashback into Claudia’s past. Today’s selection is from the first flashback and comes from Claudia’s meeting with the one who recruited her into the profession.

Calling all writers:

The Eight Sentences:

Image credit: specialize.co.nz

Jackson White spoke up and said with the confidence of a university professor in defense of his thesis, “In addition to social media, email, and driving directions, the internet is a powerful venue for human interaction. By  connecting with others, we discover that we aren’t alone, we aren’t broken or isolated. There is hope.”

“Well fuck you, too,” Barger said.

Scully was a bit more tolerant, but not much, “That sounds like something right outta the Reader’s Digest Journal of Popular Science.”

White replied, “It is, in fact, from an article I read in Reader’s Digest. I of course paraphrased it. Far be it from me to be guilty of plagiarism.”

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The Back Story:

Several members of the League of Old Men are traveling together to their next mission.

They are discussing one aspect of the mission.

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Open call for writers:

The Eight Sentences:

__________________                                                                                         

Dahl returned his crystal tumbler to its coaster on the drop leaf table.

His hand moved with the precision of an artist painting eyebrows one hair at a time.

He leaned into the light and his guest could see that Dahl’s expression had changed — his eyebrows had lowered. The lips were pursed and thin. The corners of his mouth were pulled back into his cheeks but he wasn’t smiling.

Unnerving seconds seemed to take minutes to pass. Remington’s palms became soaked with sweat. Dahl spoke, “You have always given me the impression that control of this man was unquestionable.”

The Back Story:

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This week’s snippet in a continuation of the meeting in last week’s, between the mysterious Mr. Dahl and his guest, a fellow member of the secret organization who controls the world’s leaders, Mr. Remington.

Open call for writers:

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