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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participate in the Snippet Sunday group on FaceBook.

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The Eight Sentences:

Hula girls and a skull dagger.

Claudia asked, “What’s up with the choice of shirts?”
“The dagger bothers you?” asked Debert.
“I’m not sure…” she hesitated wondering what Debert was up to. “Is he mocking me—or is this some dark metaphor?” she asked herself.
Debert assumed a dignified frown, lowered his eyebrows and intoned, “You remember from your study of history, that in medieval times, before the age of printing, events were often documented with marks on the handles of knives.”
“Mmmmm…..that does ring a bell,” Claudia remembered, “and this shirt with a skull at the junction of the blade, handle, and guard?”
Debert smiled, “Well I have no idea how many skulls, or notches on your gun you might have, but I thought one would represent what you do in addition to all of them in toto.”

The Set Up:

In this scene from The Tourist Killer, Claudia is having breakfast with Mr. Debert at the Sandestin Hilton in Florida. His choice of attire becomes the subject of their conversation. And in the news, Claudia got a great 4 star review this past week. Check it out, HERE.

Got eight lines to share? 

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:

The shooter relaxed and watched the rain collect on the windshield as the wiper blades paused for a few seconds between cycles. First it was images, then text. It was like e-mails appearing on the screen of her computer but now they were appearing on the windshield right before her eyes. No time to read them as the wipers cleared them away with each wave. Always changing, more messages and no time to read nor savor them.

“Did my targets realize their own frailty, their vulnerability, their mortality? Were they able to adjust the length of time the blades of fate hesitate between each event?”
The light changed, the pace of the rain quickened and without a thought, her hand came up, her finger touched the lever, and the wipers went from intermittent to regular speed—with no pauses.

The Back story:

This week’s snippet features the last eight sentences of The Tourist Killer. The narrator once again refers to her as “the shooter,” rather than by name. How easy will it be for her to be Claudia for a year rather than “the shooter?”

The sequel, A Year Without Killing opens with Claudia walking towards her favorite Irish pub in Manhattan. The rain has gone and the sidewalk is wet.

What next?

This will be my last snippet until January. A Year Without Killing begins it’s “two chapters a week” serial run at VentureGalleries.com on Sunday, Dec. 7. Every spare moment I have between now and New Years will be spent working on future chapters.  My fourth book is in the planning stages and will be titled, Transfer the Dragon.

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.

A sunset made more beautiful by clouds. Cape Cod 2014

The Eight Sentences:

[NOTE: Outrageous punctuation in effect to trim this down to 8 sentences from nineteen!]

“You remember what I told you about sunsets, don’t you?” Lilly had asked.
“Yes, ma’am, I do, I’ll never forget it,” Claudia replied.

“Well, Dr. Thibaut’s passing was a beautiful clear sunset, no clouds to be seen, but a beautiful afterglow,” Lillie put her coffee cup on the table, raised her glasses and wiped her eyes with the ever-present white lace handkerchief.
Claudia thought a moment and at the risk of sounding like a challenge, pressed ahead with her question, “Do you think that people can have a cloudy life — one that would have beautiful clouds at sunset, but, aaah, still have had troubles?”

Joe Btfsplk

“Honey, no life goes by without problems–we all have our clouds. Remember that man in Lil’ Abner?” They shared a laugh and Lilly continued, “I’m sure Dr. Thibaut had his concerns, but they would have been those wispy little clouds that the wind carries away with ease. Sure wouldn’t have been anything like a mushroom cloud,” she winked at Claudia, reached out, and hugged her tight.

The Back Story:

The late Dr. Thibaut had been Claudia’s adviser/supervisor in her quest for a master’s degree. Claudia had visited his residence often enough to get acquainted with “Miss Lil,” his housekeeper. In this scene, they discuss Dr. Thibaut’s life and Claudia finds a moment for introspection with an analogy involving clouds and sunsets.

We’re looking for more writers:

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 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:

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:

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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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