You’re Not My Type

The Author At WorkIn the past three weeks I have recovered from losing the old blog, starting the new one – which is booming, by the way, so thank you – and focusing a lot of my energy on my next book.

To be perfectly honest, I thought a solo effort was never going to happen because I had completely given up on that dream. Well, I kicked myself in the ass, started working on it when I had free time, and can now say the first chapter is done. Sure, it’s only a rough draft, but I am taking Proof’s advice and avoiding edits until the first draft is completed.

I thought you may want to take a quick look at the direction the book is taking, so some of it is below.

For some reason, the indents did not transfer over to WordPress. Sorry about that.

Thunder shook the streets of Philadelphia’s Germantown section. Located in the northwest part of the city, Germantown is a dichotomous neighborhood featuring enormous, century-old estates, and dilapidated row homes. While strip malls pepper the area, some corner grocery stores still thrive. Traffic was light this Sunday evening, hampered by the continuous downpour and flash flooding. Maribel Gonzalez, co-owner of the Miracle Grocery, sat behind the counter, one hand on her chin, wondering if she should close the store. It had been two hours since a customer passed through, and with the weather resembling a Sharknado sequel; the prudent task would be to close early.
As Maribel rose from her stool, two masked men exploded through the front door, pistols in hand.
“Get on the ground! Now!” the taller male barked.
Maribel did as she was told, lying on the linoleum floor. Tears flowed down her face, but she was careful not to antagonize the gunmen.
The shorter male ran behind the counter, opened the register, and saw a disappointing forty dollars and change. “Are you kidding me, lady? Forty damned dollars?”
The taller male, gun trained on Maribel’s head, prompted a response by kicking her in the back.
“Slow night. The storm kept the customers away.”
“Slow night, huh?” the taller male asked. The taller male grabbed Maribel by her lengthy brown ponytail and pulled violently. “Get your pretty little ass up.”
“Okay, please don’t hurt me. I’ll give you what you want,” Maribel sobbed.
“What we want is the cash. All the cash. If you want to keep breathing, you’ll give it up,” the shorter male said.
The taller male directed Maribel behind the counter, his fist still firmly gripping her hair. The man’s gun was firmly planted in Maribel’s back, and he poked her with it to keep her moving.
The shorter male spoke again. “Get us to the safe.”
“There is no safe. We’re just a small bodega. All our money is kept in the register,” Maribel explained.
The taller male smashed his pistol on Maribel’s head, knocking her to the floor with a sickening thud. “Wrong answer, bitch.”
The shorter male stifled a laugh, and shouted, “Down goes Frazier! Down goes Frazier! Forty dollars ain’t gonna cut it, chica. We’re going have to take a little more.”

*****

Okay, it’s very rough and very drafty, but it’s pointed in the direction I’d like it to go. I’m unconventional when it comes to writing, so I do not have an outline, per se. I jot down ideas as I go, and change gears accordingly. I guess the readers will decide if this was mode was successful or not.

14 thoughts on “You’re Not My Type

  1. I’m thinking maybe you can be the next Joseph Wambaugh. Just remember Kilvinski’s Law.

    I’d love to write a book, but it isn’t going to happen. Well, maybe if I go take about 10 years of English Composition. Keep it up…

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  2. RG – I will most likely be self-published. I am nowhere near good enough to land a publisher. That said, if it does better than Only Son, I will be very happy.

    Cathy – Great, now I have to delete that ridiculously hot sex scene…

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  3. Its a dream/goal of yours. Its nice to always have something to work towards. Stick with it and you may become a “Snoopy”!

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  4. If that first chapter was located in a store in Texas, it’d be a one chapter book.

    – As Maribel rose from her stool, two masked men exploded through the front door, pistols in hand.
    “Get on the ground! Now!” the taller male barked.

    BANG! BANG!

    Maribel called 911.

    “Can you all send an officer over to my store and pick up two bodies? Yeah, they tried to rob me. No, I only shot twice. The cost of ammo is too high to send a warning shot.”

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  5. TXNick – Which is why it’s not set in Texas. The first chapter is thirteen pages, but I may expand after the fact. Plus, the one star this post received tells me at least one person doesn’t want me writing anymore. Too bad.

    Like

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