While cleaning out the garage the other day, I came across a novel I had begun some 20+ years ago. I brought it in, transcribed it into my computer and found that it was all of 40K words! Reading over it, I decided it deserved to be finished. So that’s what I’ve been working on these days, and have added 10K more words to it thus far. It’s a Christian novel, about a woman who abandons her family and runs away to Hawaii. Haha! Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. It is semi-autobiographical. *wry smile*
So until my darling brother gets done working on our fantasy novel, this is where I’ll be…trying to get into various heads and write something true.
Here’s an excerpt
The medical examiner greeted them with a grim but benign face, dressed in a white lab coat.
“Hello. I’m Dr. Frasier,” he said, shaking their hands. “I’m sorry you are being asked to do this. I understand that it’s very difficult. But we appreciate you coming down.”
“Sure,” Griffin said, face pale. The doctor opened the door and ushered them into the room. The bank of large drawers against the wall gave Griffin a surreal feeling. It’s just like in the movies, he thought, as he moved robotically to where the examiner was standing. In one swift movement, he opened the middle drawer and slid it out. A beautiful woman lay on the slab, a sheet covering all but her shoulders and head. A sprinkling of freckles covered her pale cheeks, and her auburn hair spread like a fan around her head. Her eyes were closed and Griffin thought she might very well be asleep, but for an array of angry gashes covering her upper chest, the mouths of the wounds pink against the ivory skin.
Joe looked at his Griffin apprehensively.
Griffin began to cry, his tears splashing down his cheeks as he wept.
“Griff, man, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Joe said, moving to put his arm around him.
“No, no,” Griffin looked up, unable to control his emotions. “It’s not her, it’s not her, see? It looks so much like her, but it’s not, see? She has a mole, right here, right here…” he pointed to his left jawline. “Right here, and see? Nothing there; this isn’t her, officer. Doctor, this isn’t Rachel, it isn’t Rachel,” he couldn’t seem to stop repeating this line. “It’s not her. It’s not Rachel.”
“Okay; thank you Mr. Andrews. We appreciate your willingness to come down,” the examiner said as he slid the drawer with its grim occupant back into its place.
The officer led them back out of the room, Griffin still wiping his eyes and declaring that the body was not Rachel’s until Joe wondered if he was having a breakdown. Once they were back in the cop car, however, he seemed to simply go limp with relief, although the tears did not stop until they were walking back through the front door of his house.
“Hey man, do you want something to eat? Have you eaten yet today?” Joe felt strongly that his friend should not be left alone at the moment. He was pale and visibly shaking, although a thin smile was upon his lips.
“It wasn’t her, was it, Joe? It wasn’t Rachel.”
“No, Griff, it wasn’t. She didn’t have the mole, right?”
“Right. Right. The mole. She didn’t have the mole. It wasn’t her.”
“It wasn’t her,” Joe echoed, nodding. “Now, I think you should eat something. Or maybe something to drink? How about some coffee?”
“Whiskey,” Griffin said, with sudden clarity.
Opinions? Thoughts? All are welcome.