Kisses from Yesterday - Final Part

Today I am finishing my critique of the first chapter of Angi Kelly's Adult Urban Fantasy, KISSES FROM YESTERDAY. When we last saw Alexis, she was talking to a strange man in her newly acquired house... 


Alexis’s heart pounded.  She felt its beat in her temple, heard its throbbing in her ears.  She jumped up and stumbled back, preparing to run if he came toward her.  His eyes met hers, and sorrow filled his face as he looked at her.

“I am sorry to have frightened you.  Please, sit back down.”

She stared at him, debating whether or not she was willing to take the risk, connection or no.  He sat down and looked at her, hands upraised, palms toward her.  His eyes were sorrowful, pleading with her.

“Please,” he said again.

Alexis sank back into the chair, her eyes never leaving his face.  Sighing, he ran his hand through his hair.

“Jonathan Crestwood did not commit suicide.  He went into Rebecca’s room that night and locked the door behind him, as he had almost every night since she died.  His tears soaked her pillow as he fell asleep.  He awoke later, not knowing what had wakened him.  He got up and went to the basin to splash water on his face, and then realized someone else was in the room with him.  He knew who she was the moment she spoke.  She came to him, trying to…comfort him, but the type of comfort she offered, he was not willing to take.”

“She wanted to seduce him?”

His eyes were dark as he answered.  “Yes, for lack of a better term.  When he refused her, she grew angry.  She told him he would always be hers, and if she couldn’t have him, no one could.  A man grabbed him and put a cloth over his face, and then he lost consciousness.”

He paused, his eyes unfocused, faraway.  Alexis waited, but when it seemed as though he wasn’t going to say anything else, she leaned forward.  “What happened after he lost consciousness?”

The question seemed to bring him back from whatever memory he was seeing in his mind.  He blinked and looked at her.

“When he awoke, he was tied to the bed and the woman was partially disrobed, straddling him.  She told him he could choose to take her, and then marry her, or he could choose to die.  He told her he would never take a woman such as her for his wife.  She slapped him, and told him she had been the one to arrange for Rebecca’s brutal death.”

He looked at the portrait of Rebecca, and then he sighed, a sound of weariness that seemed to come from deep within his soul.  Anger blazed in his eyes.

“Then, she told him he still had to choose…her or death.  He chose death.  They cut his wrists and watched as his lifeblood drained away, and when he died, they untied him and slipped out through the window.”

“How could you possibly know these things?  I mean, if you know, then why didn’t the authorities know?  They never caught who attacked Rebecca.”

He slammed his fist into his thigh.  “They never even looked twice at the woman who killed Jonathan.  Oh, people around here all suspected it, but no one ever questioned her closely about Rebecca’s death.  The woman eventually married a man who was new to the area and knew nothing about the events.  He later found out about the whole nasty affair, but by then it was too late.  He had already married what he originally believed to be a virtuous woman.”

“Who was this young woman?”

“Henrietta Jones.”

Alexis stared at him.  “Henrietta Jones?  Who was she?”

He nodded, his eyes burning with rage.  “An insane woman who hated Rebecca and wanted Jonathan for herself.”

“How is it you know so much about what happened that night?  It happened over a century ago, and you obviously weren’t there.”

He smiled sadly.  “But I was there, Alexis.  I lived through every horrifying moment of it.  I am Jonathan Crestwood.”

Alexis’s heart seemed to freeze in her chest, and then thudded painfully.  She stood, her fingers white from her grip on the chair.  Her lungs felt heavy, burning as she tried to breathe and couldn’t.  Black dots crowded her vision and dimmed the room around her.  She uttered no sound as she slid to the floor.

***

My thoughts: My first thought is that again I'm going to pick on the dialogue here. All the information that needs to be conveyed is here, but I think it could be conveyed more...gracefully. For example I might revise this paragraph so:

Alexis sank back into the chair, her eyes never leaving his face. He gave a deep sigh, running his hands through his hair.

“Jonathan Crestwood did not commit suicide. He went into Rebecca’s room that night as he had every night since she'd died and fell asleep on her bed, his tears soaking her pillow. When he woke later, he realized he was not alone, that someone else was there. At first his heart soared, thinking that by some miracle Rebecca had come back to him and the horror of her death had been a terrible dream. But as soon as he heard the voice his hope vanished, crushed by [insert some description of her here, perhaps, crushed by the darkness of her eyes, the cold calculating smile, something]. He knew who she was and why she'd come. She'd come to offer comfort, but not the sort he was willing to take."

Of course, this is just my opinion and we all know how subjective opinions are, but I do think this dialogue could be improved to read smoother. I might also suggest reading it out loud to hear how it flows. This always helps me catch places where the sentences stumble a little.

My final thought is that I think this is an intriguing start to what looks like a wicked cool ghost story. A big thank you to Angi for submitting this first chapter and readers, do chime in with any thoughts you might have.

Kisses from Yesterday - continued...

Today I am continuing to critique the first chapter of Angi Kelly's Adult Urban Fantasy, KISSES FROM YESTERDAY. When we last saw Alexis, she was hearing music...

She grabbed the silver candelabra from the table at the head of the stairs, and tested its weight.

Yep, it’s heavy.  Hit somebody with this, and they won’t get up for a while.

She hurried toward the room, stopping just outside the door.  The melody was beautiful, sorrowful and haunting.  Her heart ached and tears welled up in her eyes as she listened.  The melody made her think of loss, something lost through tragedy.  It brought back memories of her parents, their deaths.  She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting against her tears as she listened for a few more minutes, her hand resting on the doorknob.  Then, she opened her eyes and eased the door open.  Her breath caught in her throat as moonlight streamed in through the skylight, illuminating a man sitting at the piano.

When she saw his face, a sudden calm filled her.  For some reason, she wasn’t afraid of him.  Curiosity raged through her, but no fear.  Some kind of link existed between the two of them, pulling her toward him, and she stepped farther into the room.  The man didn’t seem to notice her as he continued playing his melody.  The moonlight coated his light brown hair with silver.  He was dressed in a dark suit, but in place of a tie, he wore a blue cravat.  She frowned and bit her lip.  He looked vaguely familiar.  He suddenly stopped playing and looked at her.

“Alexis Conrad.  So, we finally meet.  How do you do?”  He crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head slightly as he studied her.

She raised her eyebrows at him.  How do you do?  A man I feel I know breaks into my house, and one of the first things he says to me is, “How do you do?”  What is wrong with this guy?  Anger flared, warming her skin.

“Who are you and what are you doing in my house?”

“You know who I am, if you’ll think about it.  As for what I’m doing here, I came to you for help.”  Raising his eyebrow, he inclined his head toward her hand.  “I assure you, you have no need of that.”

She glanced at her hand and saw she was still clutching the candelabra.  She set it on the floor and took a deep breath.  She frowned, crossing her arms over her chest.  “My help?  What do you mean?”

“That’s a long story.  Won’t you sit down?  I’ll tell you a little more about this house.”

She hesitated.  She had to be insane to consider sitting down and having a chat with this guy.  She should run to her suite, lock herself in, and call the cops.  But somehow she knew he wouldn’t hurt her.

The ghost of a smile touched his lips, but shadows haunted his eyes.  “Please, Miss Conrad.  I’ve no intention of doing you any harm.  I only wish to talk with you.”

Something in his voice, something lost and lonely, called out to her.  Before she knew what she was doing, she pulled one of the chairs closer to him.  As she sat down, he smiled gratefully.

“Thank you.  I haven’t had companionship in quite some time.”

Alexis smiled and fiddled with the sleeve of her robe, twisting the fabric around her finger.  “I can’t imagine why.”

His face darkened.  “Oh, there are many reasons, which I will reveal to you shortly.  Now, Miss Conrad—”

“Please.  Call me Alexis,” she said, hoping her invitation would prompt him to introduce himself.

“Very well.  Alexis.  Forgive me, but I must wait until I’ve told you a little more about this house before I reveal my name to you.  Do you know who that young woman is?”  He gestured to the painting.

Her heart lurched painfully, as it did every time she looked at the similar face, and she shook her head.  “No.  I think she is one of my ancestors.”

“Yes, she is, although not a direct ancestor.  You look very much like her.  That young woman is Rebecca Eugenia Carrington.  She was a beautiful and astonishing young woman.  Her portrait hangs there because she was quite accomplished at the piano and this room was hers, where she played for friends and family alike.”

His gaze turned inward, thoughtful.  After a moment, it returned to her.

“You’ve already heard much of the story about the tragedy that befell poor Rebecca, have you not?”

“Yes.”  Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper.  “It was quite tragic.  I was also told her fiancé was so overcome with grief he committed suicide in her room.”

“That’s not true!”  He sprang to his feet, startling her.  His eyes were wide.  The muscle in his cheek twitched, as if he were clenching and unclenching his jaw.

***

My thoughts: My first thought is that the dialogue between Alexia and piano man could be improved. One thing I find when I re-read my dialogue is that I often have extra words or phrases that don't quite jibe with the rest. For example, in this bit, piano man says he needs her help:
“My help?  What do you mean?”

“That’s a long story.  Won’t you sit down?  I’ll tell you a little more about this house.”
To me, that's not what should follow here. What should follow is him telling her how/why he needs her help. I assume that the reason has to do with the history surrounding Rebecca and shortly that turns out to be so. I'd consider cutting this sentence. My second thought is, Yay! A ghost! At least, I'm pretty sure he's a ghost. He didn't offer her his hand and I think that's why. Must read on to confirm...

Readers, any thoughts or comments for Angi?

Kisses from Yesterday - continued...

Today I am continuing to critique the first chapter of Angi Kelly's Adult Urban Fantasy, KISSES FROM YESTERDAY. When we last saw Alexis, she'd discovered a portrait of a woman who likes like her...

Alexis stumbled back, and almost tripped over her own feet.  Then, she frowned as she studied the portrait more closely.

Not me, after all.  I’ve been watching too many horror movies.  She rolled her eyes.

The young woman’s face was a little fuller, but other than that, they could have been twins.  Dizziness swept through her and Alexis closed her eyes to steady herself.  After a moment, the dizziness passed, and she looked at the painting again.  She thought it was only natural there was some resemblance between the two of them.  They were related.

“Who were you?” She said aloud, as if expecting an answer.  Curiosity filled her, and she wondered what the young woman had been like.

She opened the door on the other side of the room, and another corridor stretched before her.  The south wing.  Closing the door, she left the room, pausing to glance back at the painting.  Through the skylight, she saw darkness was falling, so she decided to save the rest of her explorations for later.  She went back to her car and slid behind the wheel, tapping her fingernails as she gazed toward the cemetery she had seen when she arrived at the estate.  She wondered which of her ancestors were buried there.  She would definitely explore the cemetery and research the names she found there to discover where they fit in her family tree.  Or rather, where she fit in theirs.  She was tired of not belonging anywhere, but maybe this house would give her the stability and belonging she so desperately wanted.  Maybe she could belong here.  With another sigh, she started her car.

Time to meet the caretaker.

* * * *

The past two weeks had been busy.  She had moved and started settling into her new home, and had found surrogate parents in Albert and Amanda Jenkins.  They welcomed her with open arms and seemed to have adopted her as one of their own.  Their dinner that evening had been wonderful.

Alexis returned home full of Amanda’s excellent cooking, tired and overflowing with happiness.  She had quickly bonded with the Jenkins’ children and their grandchildren.  She hadn’t enjoyed herself like that since before her parents passed away.  She had made lifelong friends in the Jenkins family, and a warm, contented glow filled her.

A tingling sensation drifted across the back of her neck as she walked into her sitting room.  Goosebumps spread across her arms.  She looked around.  Was that something in the corner?  No, just a shadow.  She shook her head as she walked into the bathroom.

“New house jitters.”  She frowned, trying to convince herself that was what it was.  It had been happening a lot lately, this feeling of being watched.  It was something to be expected when someone moved into an old house, but it was really creepy.  Especially when she thought about the story Albert had told her about the deaths of Rebecca Carrington and Jonathan Crestwood, which had taken place in Rosedawn.  Rebecca had been brutally attacked a few days before her wedding to Jonathan was to have taken place and had died two days after the date of what would have been the happy event.  Sometime after her death, Jonathan had committed suicide on Rebecca’s bed, which was still covered with the bloody sheets she had died on.  After Jonathan’s death, the family hadn’t even changed the sheets on the bed before locking the room up.

“Maybe it’s the ghost of Rebecca.  Maybe she doesn’t like me being in her house.”  She grabbed a towel and set it on the marble counter.  Then, she stripped off her clothes and stepped into the tub.  She stood under the spray, relishing the way the water relaxed her tired muscles and soothed away the stresses of the day.

As she soaped her body, she decided she would go to the kitchen for something to drink, and then she’d curl up in bed with a good book until sleep overtook her.  She rinsed off the suds, and turned off the water.  She dried off, slipped into her robe and headed for the kitchen.

The faint notes of a piano greeted her when she reached the stairs.  Her heart skipped a beat as she turned and looked down the corridor.

The music room!

***

My thoughts:  My first thought is that even though darkness was falling I would've wanted to explore the whole house - assuming there was electricity of course! My second thought is that I'm not wild about the transition between her checking the house out and two weeks later. I'm fine with time passing but I think there's a better way to do it. I was also bothered by her sudden bonding with the Jenkins family. Maybe it's because we don't actually meet them or maybe I got the sense it happened too fast. The transition between that and her getting the tingling sensation is also a little jarring but I like that we're getting back to the house and all that's in it. What makes her think that Rebecca might not like her in the house? Can't wait to see who's playing piano...

Readers, any thoughts or comments for Angi?

Kisses from Yesterday - continued...

Today I am continuing to critique the first chapter of Angi Kelly's Adult Urban Fantasy, KISSES FROM YESTERDAY. I have included the last paragraph from yesterday for the sake of continuity.  

She left the kitchen and decided to explore the main upstairs first, and save the two wings for another time.  She paused on the staircase as a tickling sensation crept across the back of her neck.  Her heart constricted and she took a deep breath.  She turned around and looked back down into the foyer, expecting to see someone watching her, but there was no one.  She looked back up to the top of the stairs, where old family portraits hung on the wall, and she laughed nervously.

“Well, that’s who’s watching you, silly.  Everyone knows creepy old portraits always seem to watch you.”

She studied the faces of her ancestors, who looked back at her from their portraits as though judging her.  Shivering slightly at those disapproving stares, she continued down the corridor and entered the first room she came to.

The room was another office.  On her right was a large hearth with a painting of an older man hanging above the mantle.  He held himself with the self-assurance of one who knew who and what he was, who had no doubt about his place in life.  A small brass nameplate at the base of the portrait identified him as Thomas Carrington.  She recognized the name as one Mark had mentioned as her ancestor and the last of the family to actually live in the house.  She sighed, wishing his confidence had carried down through the generations to her.  She was still trying to find her place in life.

“Well met, Thomas Carrington.”

Two large wing-back chairs sat in front of the fireplace, with a small, ornately-carved table between them.  A brandy snifter sat on the table, evaporation marks indicating the glass had contained liquid when the family departed.

She pulled out one of the unmarked books in the bookcase, carefully turning the brittle pages.  A ledger.  As she put it back, a thick, leather-bound book caught her attention, and she pulled it out.  It was a journal, written in the bold strokes of a man’s script.

This might be interesting to read.  Maybe it can shed some light on why I never knew about our connection to this place.

She set it on the desk, and then sat in the chair.  Opening the top drawer, she saw the general clutter she expected to find in a desk drawer.  As she started to close the drawer, a red ribbon caught her attention.  Frowning, she pulled it out and discovered the ribbon was looped through a small brass key.

“Well, now.  I wonder what you unlock.”

In another drawer, she found an old scrapbook-type photo album, which she also set on the desk.  A quick inspection of the other three drawers revealed nothing of importance.  She tucked the key into her pocket, and grabbed the album and journal as she left the room.  The next four rooms turned out to be a cloakroom, and guest bedrooms.

The door at the end of the corridor opened into a parlor.  A domed skylight let in the waning light from outside.  A piano sat in front of the windows, close to the hearth.  A sideboard with linen napkins, china dishes and silver utensils arranged neatly sat against the wall to her left.  She frowned.

Were the Carringtons preparing to entertain when they left so quickly?  And why did they leave?  She wondered if she would be able to find out what had happened to make the family abandon their home so quickly and leave almost everything behind.

A portrait hung over the mantle, a young woman seated at the piano in this very room.  She was beautiful, with red hair swept up on top of her head, ringlets framing the edges of her face.  Her expression hinted at an aristocratic haughtiness, and yet there was also much love and kindness in her expression.  Innocence radiated from her.  The gown the young woman was wearing was a rich hue of green, with a beautiful garnet brooch placed between her breasts.  Something about the painting tugged at the edges of Alexis’s mind, teasing her, but she couldn’t quite place her finger on it.  Her eyes were drawn back to the face of the young woman.  It was somehow familiar to her.  Once again, she regarded the green eyes, the heart-shaped face, and then she gasped.  The young woman in the portrait was her!

***

My thoughts:  "She studied the faces of her ancestors, who looked back at her from their portraits as though judging her.  Shivering slightly at those disapproving stares, she continued down the corridor and entered the first room she came to." Why does she think they're judging her? Is it because of their expressions or because of how she feels? Either way, maybe the description of their disapproving faces should come before her thought that they're judging her. 

I like how the impression of Carrington as knowing his place contrasts with Alexis' feeling of still trying to find hers, and the way she addresses him. I am also curious as to how the house has come to her. Have her parents died recently? Someone else in the family? I'll be interested to find out.

Finally: "The young woman in the portrait was her!" If I saw a portrait that looked exactly like me I think I'd recognize it immediately, unless there were obvious differences like eye color or hair color, then it might take me longer. Also, is the portrait her, or does it merely look like her? An important distinction though not one that needs to be revealed yet...

Readers, what did you think of this second bit of chapter one? Any thoughts or suggestions for Angi? I'll be back tomorrow with another installment :)

Kisses from Yesterday - continued...

Yesterday I critiqued the Prologue of Angi Kelly's Adult Urban Fantasy, KISSES FROM YESTERDAY. Today I'm critiquing the beginning of Chapter One...

Chapter 1

Nashville, Georgia

Present Day

How do you live somewhere most of your life and not know the local haunted house belongs to your family?  Alexis wished she could ask her parents that question.

She opened the door and felt around for the light switch, hoping Mark Walker hadn’t been misinformed when he said Rosedawn had electricity.  She found the switch and gasped when the interior of the house sprang into view.  A chandelier hung overhead, revealing a wide foyer.  In a parlor to her right, a huge oil painting hung over the mantle, a portrait of a young woman standing in front of the very fireplace over which it hung.

In front of Alexis and to the right was a staircase with steps that curved up to the landing.  The ceiling was vaulted, and a balcony encompassed the second floor, leaving the center open.  She crossed the room to a doorway near the staircase, and went inside.  It was an office with an old roll-top desk against one wall, and a bookcase filled with books lined another.  She ran her hand over the wood of the desk, admiring the intricate details carved into it, and then she slid the top up.  Papers were scattered on its surface as though someone had just left the room.  She picked up a piece of paper that was crackly, brittle.  She lightly traced her finger over the writing, marveling at the old style.  It was a letter.  Her eyes were drawn to the inkblot near the middle of the page.  The writer never finished it.

“I thought the house would be empty, but this looks as though someone just stepped outside.” [Are these Alexis’ thoughts or did she just say this out loud? Just asking.]

She placed the paper back on the desk and left the room.  As she explored the downstairs area, she found a breezeway and followed it to an enormous kitchen.  Her mouth gaping open, she turned around in circles, trying to take it all in at once.  It was a harmonious blend of history and the modern day.  Set into the wall to her left was a huge stone fireplace, still containing the cauldron one might expect to see in a castle in medieval Europe.  The old semi-circular ovens used by the original inhabitants of the house were also still there, but their modern counterparts were set into the opposite wall.  A large island counter with two ranges dominated the center of the room, with copper pots and pans hanging over it.

“This is huge.  You could prepare a meal for an army in here.” [For some reason her speaking her thoughts out loud is jarring to me] 

A century and a half and the house looked as if the previous owners would return any minute.  The house was a moment frozen in time.  What would that moment tell her about its inhabitants?

“It seems so odd to realize no one has lived here for such a long time.  The way it looks, you’d think someone had just stepped outside.  I could move in right away.  Mark told me the caretaker and his wife have kept the house up inside and out, but he didn’t tell me about all the stuff left behind.”

She left the kitchen and decided to explore the main upstairs first, and save the two wings for another time.  She paused on the staircase as a tickling sensation crept across the back of her neck.  Her heart constricted and she took a deep breath.  She turned around and looked back down into the foyer, expecting to see someone watching her, but there was no one.  She looked back up to the top of the stairs, where old family portraits hung on the wall, and she laughed nervously.

***

My thoughts: How do you live somewhere most of your life and not know the local haunted house belongs to your family? What a perfect way to connect the past with the present and make the prologue relevant. Nicely done. Bonus? There's a haunted house and I love a haunted house story! The description of the house was also excellent and I got a vivid picture in my mind of that entry. The only thing that bothered me was Alexis talking out loud to herself. I may be alone in this and if so, readers, do speak up! But I think I would try to incorporate Alexis words into her observations, have her think that the kitchen is large enough to feed an army and how odd it was that no one had lived in the house for so long, and that she could move in right away if she wanted...You get the idea. But, again, that's just me and maybe Alexis is the sort of person who talks out loud to herself. Regardless, I can't wait to see what else Alexis is going to find :)

Readers, I hope you'll chime in on this first part of Chapter One, KISSES FROM YESTERDAY. Tomorrow, I'll be back with more.

First Chapter Critique - Kisses From Yesterday

This week I have a first chapter crit for you all, which I will post over the course of this week. A big thank you to Angi Kelly who submitted the prologue and first chapter of her Adult Urban Fantasy, KISSES FROM YESTERDAY.

Prologue

Nashville, Georgia

1861

Mists swirled up from the ground as early morning fog blanketed the area, hiding most of the house from view.  Dew fell on leaves—eerie, heavy plops in the silence of predawn.  Smoke curled from the chimneys as the smell of cooking permeated the land and the house itself seemed to stretch as the first streaks of dawn brightened the sky.  Saria’s heart was heavy as she trudged through the dew-laden grass, the water in her bucket sloshing against its sides.  A sense of foreboding rippled through her, prickling the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck.  She paused, looking up at the house, studying it to try to locate the cause of her unease, but nothing stood out.  Still, something was wrong.  She felt it, a heaviness that weighed on her skin.

The death of Rebecca had placed an oppressive air over the plantation that was still felt by everyone, but this…this was different.  Saria raised her eyes to the roof and gasped.  A black aura hovered over the house like a low storm cloud, covering the upper floors.  She closed her eyes against the sight as a shiver coursed through her.  Others might sense it in an abstract way, but Saria knew she was one of only a few who would actually see it.  She opened her eyes, looked back up at the aura and muttered a prayer as she hurried into the house.

She gave her bucket to Callie and frowned.  “Have you seen Mama Elsey?”

Callie nodded, glanced over her shoulder and turned back to Saria, her voice little more than a whisper.  “Prowlin’ the house.  Prayin’.  She got her powder with her.”

Saria widened her eyes and her heart thumped against her ribs.  For Mama Elsey to have her powder with her could only mean she knew about the aura.  It also meant she knew something was terribly wrong and was trying to protect those within the house.  She turned away from Callie and headed for the stairs.

Screams shattered the stillness, echoing through the house.  Saria’s heart froze in mid-beat.  A second scream set her heart into a frenzied gallop and she ran up the stairs.

Miss Rebecca’s room!

Ice formed in the pit of her stomach and spread outward, freezing her blood and making her feel as if she was running through molasses.  She almost tripped over her skirts when she saw the crowd gathered outside Miss Rebecca’s room, but she caught herself on the wall.  She pushed herself away and walked slowly toward the others.  Mama Elsey stepped toward her, her hands outstretched.

“No, chile.  You doan needs ta see this.”

Saria pushed her hands away and brushed past her.  “No, Mama.  I do need to see.  You know I’ll never believe it if I don’t.”

She pushed past the others crowded into the doorway.  Just as the blood pooled on the bedroom floor and soaked into the bed, Saria felt the blood drain from her face and pool in her feet.  Tears streamed down her cheeks as she closed her eyes against the grisly sight.  An anguished cry tore from her as she crumpled to the floor.  She felt separated from her body as she knelt, barely feeling the strong hands that gripped her shoulders.  She swallowed against the bile in her throat and tried to take a deep breath, but the air in her lungs had rushed out, and she couldn’t draw in enough breath to fill them again.

She opened her eyes and caught the dark gaze of Mama Elsey.  The black pupils seemed to widen and swirl, drawing her in as she struggled to breathe.  They were like black whirlpools, sucking at her mind, drowning her.  They seemed to widen even more, swallowing her as the darkness claimed her.

***

My thoughts: First I'll address the issue of the prologue, which as we all know many people do not care for, including agents and editors. I am not any of those people. I was raised on prologues so I'm okay with them as long as they're necessary. I have a great prologue for one of my novels but no matter how many times I try to reinsert it the story reads better starting from chapter one. So. A prologue must be necessary and make the story richer for being there.

That said I like this prologue. I did a little editing in that first paragraph because at first the house was mostly hidden and then it stretched, which seemed at odds. I might revise to show the fog lifting enough to see the house or maybe have the fog envelope the house but that's just my opinion. The question here is whether the house is important. If it is, I might have it enveloped or framed by the fog, if not, I'd shorten up the whole description but keep the fog and mist and dew falling on leaves. The atmosphere is perfect.

Other things I loved about this prologue: It's historical and I love history. It will be interesting to see how this history plays a part in the story. Mama Elsey and her powders. What kind of powders? I want to know, and who is Mama Elsey? The end. OMG! Who died in Rebecca's room?

 I definitely want to know what's going to happen next.

What about you, dear readers? Any thoughts on this prologue or prologues in general? Any helpful suggestions/comments for Angi? 

Tomorrow I will back with the first part of Chapter One.

First Chapter - Deady Arts

Here is the final page of Shella's first chapter...

The rest of the meeting went as normal. We covered procedures, schedules, mandatory classes that we would have to take. All the boring stuff that needed to get said.

To end the meeting, Mr. Stock said, “One last thing and you can all get out of here, if anyone wants some volunteer help in their class this year, please let me know. OK everyone, enjoy the rest of your day.”

Everyone quickly got up and formed into their groups. Me, I was solo. Even Deven and Juliet got up and walked off together. I returned the wheel to the hamster and whispered to him an apology for taking it away. Then I picked up my binder and hamster and thought about the personal goal requirement and wondered where my life was going. At the moment nowhere. It was boring. Not mine. My mind was not liking where my thoughts were going and turned it's on switch off. 

***

My thoughts: Okay, I'm a little disappointed by the fact that nothing much happened in this chapter except that we met and got to know our narrator. Most first chapters need to have something happen in order to catch the attention of readers/agents/editors. Notice that I say most. Depending upon where this is going, this first chapter might work perfectly. But maybe there's a way to convey the character information that's here in a better way. Also notice that I said a little disappointed, because I really enjoyed trying to understand the narrator and where she was coming from. I think I know but I need to read more in order to confirm and thus the author succeeded - in getting me to want to read more to find out what happens next. 

A huge thanks to Shellah for submitting and readers, I hope you'll add your comments :)

Happy Friday!!!

 

First Chapter - Deadly Arts

Here are the next two pages of Shella's manuscript...

Mr. Stock had been there ever since she started working here. He was the one who hired her. In the past three years, she watched his belly grow pressing his suit jacket open to where he could not even button it now. But the change in his looks this year was his mustache. Stock was the kind of guy who tried hard to be in style, but he was always just shy of the bullseye. Never quite hitting the trend. (this is an example of a great fragment used to effect) This mustache was waxed at the tips, and it liked to jump like a kid on a trampoline when he talked.

“Let's get this meeting done so you can all get your rooms ready.” Mr. Stock smiled and looked at each and everyone one of us, “I know you females here love that part.”

All the girl teachers giggled. That was one of the things we all looked forward to. Picking a theme to decorate the room in. Perusing catalogs; both paper and online; (I think commas instead of semi-colons here) trying to find just the right one to inspire all the minds that would be surrounded by it. To be honest, I enjoyed it as well. It would be the only bright part of this day.

Mr. Stock continued, ”In front of each of you is your information folder. Everything is pretty standard except for a couple of things. First, there is a form you guys need to fill out about yourselves. The district wants to put everyone's picture and bio onto the website.”

Great, I thought, (you need punctuation here) what is mine going to say? I wake up. Get a coffee. Go to work. Eat. Paint. Go to sleep. That was all there was to my life. (Does she want more? If so, what does she want?)

“Don’t over think the bio, we only need a paragraph and there are some tips on the form to guide you.” Mr. Stock looked down at his folder and flipped through some pages, “The other thing that is new...”

Screech. My hamster took this moment to start using his wheel. After he realized it was the hamster he continued on, “As I was saying, the other thing that is new is a personal goal worksheet. I went to a conference, and one of the talks was about focus.” He stopped and looked at the hamster again because the screeching was relentless. His eyebrows drew together, and he said, “Mary, can you please stop the hamster from making that noise?”

Everyone turned in their seats to look at me so I quickly opened the cage and yanked the wheel out. He nodded and continued on, “If the teacher's personal life is in focus it will transfer to their work lives. So this year we will give it a try.”

One of the teachers said out loud, “I’m not happy with sharing my personal goals.”

As I looked around, there were a couple of other teachers that were nodding their heads. I had to agree. I did not have any goals but if I did, I would not want to share it with my coworkers. 

“Sorry, I should have said you get to keep the worksheet all to yourself,” Mr. Stock answered. “This is something for you to work personally on. The joy you get out of making your life better rubs off on your work. You will become a better teacher if you are happier.” He looked around the room again nodding his head. “This is not required but I feel it might play a positive role on the staff. Please indulge me in this endeavor.” He tweaked his mustache.

*** 

My thoughts: Interestingly, the more I'm getting to know this character the less comments I seem to have, except...maybe that this has a sort of dreamy feel to it, like Twin Peaks, if that makes any sense. It feels like there's something going on beneath the surface, a mystery that's about to be revealed...

First chapter - Deadly Arts

Here are the next two pages of Shella's manuscript...

“My name is Deven.” He stuck his hand out for me to shake it.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Mary,” I said as I shook his clammy hand.

“What grade do you teach?” Deven asked.

“Kindergarten.”

“I'm teaching fourth grade.” The moisture on his upper lip started to grow, daring him to wipe at it with his finger.

I glanced at the clock and said, “It’s almost time for the meeting to start. I should find a seat. It was nice to meet you.”

Hopefully, he would get the cue and go sit down and leave me to myself.

“Yeah, you too,” Deven replied.

I went to the table in the back and set the hamster cage on it. Deven followed and sat right by me. I sighed and resigned myself to the fact that I was going to have to wear a mask (ah, but which mask? Or is there only one?) today even though it was exhausting.

I gave him a reassuring smile. The poor guy was obviously stressed out. I could at least try to be nice. But that was the hard part. I did not feel things the way others do and so sometimes I would say or do something that would come across as mean or rude and upset people. Ah, now this is an interesting tidbit of information!

The first year at the school. I tried hard. I tried to wear my mask every day, all day. But eventually the teachers realized that there was something not quite right about me, and they stopped including me. I became the outsider.

There was one teacher that never gave up though, Juliet. She was an older lady who had been teaching forever and looked like everyone's favorite grandma. She was the only one that still would try to talk to me.

“Mary!” Juliet said. She came over and gave me a hug, one that lasted a second too long. Juliet was the kind of person who could just not help being a mother hen. She knew I was not in the clique, and would try to make up for it. She was always an advocate for those who were outsiders. Even with the students. The shy, troubled, or picked on knew to go to her for help and comfort. When she let go, she said, “How was your summer? Do anything fun?”

There it was, the question I did not want to answer. I just needed to be quick and change the subject. No one wanted to know I did the same thing every day this summer.

“It was good. Juliet have you met Deven yet?” I said and motioned to him with my hand.

“No, how rude of me.” She looked right at him and continued, “My name is Juliet. I have been here forever if you need anything at all just ask OK?” She gave him a giant reassuring smile.

When that smile reached Deven, he instantly relaxed in his chair. That was one of those instances where I was different. It was not possible for me to make people relax. The whole time he was by me he was stiff like a fairy had come and locked him in place. But the second Juliet said hi that spell was broken.

Deven did not get a chance to say anything back to Juliet because Mr. Stock the principle cleared his throat to get everyone's attention. When the majority of the teachers settled down and turned to look at him, he said, “Hello everyone!” He was standing in front of the white board with a clipboard in his hand. “Glad to see everyone is back and smiling.”

***

My thoughts: Now things are getting interesting, in a subtle way. At first I was a little distracted by the lack of contractions, but now it's part of the narrator's voice, the way she (I'm assuming) talks, thinks. Formally. Impersonally. The only suggestion I might make is to try to tighten those first two pages so that the reader (or an agent/editor) gets to this point a little sooner. But I say might because I kind of liked the introduction to this person. 

Readers, what are your thoughts?

Out of Touch - last part

(Read part one)
(Read part two)
(Read part three)

Today I have the last part of OUT OF TOUCH from Robin at Your Daily Dose.

"What?" In contrast to her whisper, my what sounded like a sonic boom. "He left you for Mr. Krueger?"

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

"You. Gary. Mr. Krueger."

"What does Gary have to do with Mr. Krueger?" 

This felt like a round of Who's On First.(not everyone will get this reference but I do - lol)  "Nothing. I thought you were telling me something about Gary and Mr. Krueger."

She laughed."That is ridiculous." She leaned in closer and whispered, "Klein & Klein does Mr. Krueger's taxes." Franny worked for her uncle and his son, Jimmy, since she graduated.

"Mr. Krueger of Krueger's Deli."

She nodded and scooted her chair closer to mine. "Among other things. He also owns a coin laundry over on Piedmont, Suds & Fluff, and that hole in the wall bar on Main Street, known as The Joint to the regulars. The sign fell off the door years ago and it was never replaced. He has a few rental properties, too, and that pay by the hour no-tell motel, The Flamingo." Franny curled her lip at that last bit of information, as did I. 

Unfortunately, Franny and I already had the displeasure of seeing what amenities The Flamingo does not possess. Two years ago, Franny fancied herself in love with Douglas Finn. It was love at first sight for Douglas and Franny. Everyone thought Douglas was "the one" until his two-timing days came to an end thanks to one of my visions after he dropped his car keys. I scooped them up and saw Rhoda Carlisle and Douglas at The Flamingo, accompanied by a feeling of lust that made my stomach queasy. Franny and I staked out The Flamingo for two days before we caught Douglas and Rhoda in the act.

From the look on Franny's face I could tell she was reliving the Douglas escapade, too. "You have to admit it was a little bit fun zapping Rhoda with the stun gun," I said.

 She hooted with laughter. Then she cleared her throat and lowered her voice. "I spent all afternoon trying to reconcile his taxes. I added each line item for every one of those businesses to find the error. Would you believe it took me all afternoon and I am still---"

 "You two want your usual?" Bev, the waitress who was working our side of the room, finally made it to our table. Bev went to school with Franny's sister, Mary Margaret. Bev always looked like she'd worked back to back doubles and was on the verge of passing out, but she had a knack for remembering everyone's order and never carried a notepad. Franny gave a nod to Bev and she was off.

"Where are you, Gigi? You look like you're a million miles away." Franny asked.

"I saw Leo today."

"Leo." She dragged out the "o" and then sighed. "Was that weird for you?"

"Eight years and he is still the same."

"It sucks that he broke your heart."

"He didn't..."

The back of my neck tingled at my hairline. I looked up into the mirror hanging over the bar and my eyes locked with a pair of intense blue ones under black hair. Leo. Oh crack. I sank slightly lower in my seat.

"Hello ladies," Leo said. Franny became a smiling temptress while I pressed my back hard into my chair and focused on breathing.

"Hey sis. Gigi," Sean said. 

"Hi Sean," I called out enthusiastically."Leo," I said in a strangled voice.

Franny oozed charm. I sensed a smirk on Leo's face and snuck a peek in his direction. Yep. Smirking.

"Sean, Mom is getting real tired of you missing her Sunday night dinners. I am even more tired of hearing about you missing Sunday night dinners." She paused for a breath. "Leo, you are also invited to Sunday night dinner."

I couldn't believe Franny invited Leo to Sunday night dinner. Panic swallowed me whole. My face flamed scarlet. I go to Sunday night dinner. Leo's mouth turned up at the corners.

"Gigi, are you sick?" Sean asked.

 I numbly said, "Sunday night dinner." 

The wattage in Leo's smile went up. 

Franny continued. "Leo, will you be there?"

"Wouldn't miss it," he said.

"Great," Franny said. "Look forward to seeing you then." I was choking, but refused to  make a noise until Sean and Leo were out of range. 

Franny waited until I was done hacking like a cat coughing up a fur ball."Why didn't you tell me that Leo still has a thing for you?"

"Because he doesn't still have a thing for me."

"Right."

"He doesn't."

"I can tell you still have a thing for him. Didn't you notice the way he looked at you tonight even though you're wearing Mickey Mouse. That has to mean something."

I picked at a hangnail.

She followed it up with, "You have to admit he is still hot."

Hot was Paul Newman in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Hot was the sand in West Palm Beach as you hopped one foot to the other for the water. Hot were the knock off purses sold in Washington Square Park. Leo was the sun. I like this.

I nodded reluctantly.

"So, you will give it a chance?" she asked.

People who yearned for the sun inevitably were burned. I shook my head.

"Why not?" She looked like a bulldog intent on its favorite bone. 

"If I ask you to give up on this No Questions Asked, will you?" I'm not sure I get this reference.

She didn't answer, so I started to wonder what I was going to do about Sunday night dinner. I wanted to bail, but couldn't stand for anyone to think I was chicken.

I would be there.

***

My thoughts: My first thought is that there's too much description. Does Franny really need to tell Gigi all that stuff about Mr. Kreuger? Could it be said in less words? And the whole Douglas escapade. I wonder if this could go somewhere else. I like it because it's a good example of Gigi's talent but I think the pacing could be improved by cutting it. Same with Bev. Unless she's an important player I'd just give her one or two attributes, enough to form an image in the reader's mind.

My last thought is that by the end of chapter one, I want some idea of what Gigi is facing. Is it simply to be at peace with her ability and resolve her feelings for Leo (either by falling back in love or letting him go for good)? Or is there something bigger at stake. I'm hoping there is and that it has something to do with Gigi's talent and if that's the case then I want at least a hint by the end of this chapter. I'm more invested in Gigi and her ability than in her romance - past or present - with Leo. 

Now, readers, what did you think? Any suggestions or comments for Robin?

Out of Touch - part three

(Read part one)
(Read part two)

Today I have the second part of OUT OF TOUCH from Robin at Your Daily Dose.

Lying on my bed, I stared at my ceiling. Images of Roger Brown and Bambi assaulted me. You're fired. I imagine Mr. Brown just told you the good news. Smack. My stomach rolled over.

Why was it so hard for me to just roll with it? People have secrets. Always. If I had better self-control, I would have pretended I hadn't seen it. I pounded my fist into the mattress and remembered the first vision that started me on this debilitating rollercoaster ride. I think this transition to Gigi's memory could be improved. For example: "If I had better self-control, I would have pretended I hadn't seen it. But I had no more control over what I saw than I did the first time xx years ago." Then the next paragraph follows logically and naturally.

It was the Saturday after my sixth birthday. My father just died and I spent more and more time with The Fitzgeralds. My best friend, Franny, her mom, and I set out for a morning of garage sales. Our first stop was Pattersons. We chose it for two reasons: the merchandise and the gossip were known to be in abundance. (Better: We chose it because the merchandise and the gossip were known to be in abundance.) Mr. Patterson left Mrs. Patterson a month ago and tongues were wagging. Mrs. Fitzgerald's eyes opened round as wagon wheels when she saw the contents on the lawn. 

Franny asked, "Do you think there is anything left in the house?"

Mrs. Fitzgerald hustled out and we bounded out after her. It seemed that the house had vomited up the sum of its contents all over the yard.

When I picked up the ivy trimmed teacup my life changed forever - and I can't say it was for the better. 

A feeling of panic engulfed me. Mr. Patterson drank from that teacup, clutched his throat, while his face turned a mean red, and then he pitched face forward into the table and looked...dead.

The cup slipped from my hands, I started screaming, and I tripped and fell into a wheelbarrow that was parked on the grass and marked with a "For Sale" sticker. Then it happened again...

This time the feeling was satisfaction. But not the good kind. It felt black and mean. Mrs. Patterson wheeled Mr. Patterson in the wheelbarrow across the backyard to the garage. She took a shovel, dug a grave, put his body in it, and parked her Oldsmobile right on top. Her car, right this minute, was sitting on top of Mr. Patterson. 

That was when it sunk in that  I was sprawled where his dead body used to be. I couldn't get out fast enough. However, my brain and muscles no longer worked in tandem, so I just flailed around like a beached fish. Mrs. Fitzgerald hauled me out and we all made a beeline to the car.

I told Franny and her mom what I saw and felt when I touched the teacup and wheelbarrow. Mrs. Fitzgerald (and Mrs. Fitzgerald instantly believes her? Why? Just asking...) called in the tip on Mr. Patterson anonymously. The next day the headline in the local newspaper read, 'WIFE BURIES HUSBAND UNDER CAR."  

After my first vision, Mrs. Fitzgerald  made me promise not to tell anyone, not even my mom, (again, why? I want to know!) so she, Franny, and I are the only ones who know my secret. I have spent my life trying to avoid objects that might have an emotional fingerprint attached to them. It has created friction between me and my grandma, who wants me to take over the family antique business, and has cost me friends, boyfriends, and jobs. Franny calls it a gift, but she isn't afraid to touch.

"God, do you hear me? These visions are the worst. Please take them away. They are ruining my life!"

I needed a pep talk. The clock on my nightstand indicated it was 5:30. I picked up the phone and dialed Franny's apartment, which is about five minutes away. Franny Fitzgerald, best friend, trouble maker, partner in crime, and Certified Public Accountant would transform this day from a thunderstorm into a rainbow.

"Hey Franny."

"I am so glad you called." There was a hitch in her voice. "Gary left me. He said that the relationship wasn't going anywhere and he couldn't take it anymore. He also said something about not loving me like he should. Can you believe that? And then Sean called to tell me about you. I hate this day. I need pizza."

I nixed the rainbow. It remained cloudy with a probability of pepperoni.

"Franny, I am so sorry about Gary. Yes to the pizza."

"Okay.  Girabelli's in an hour," she said. Girabelli's was the premier pizza place, inexpensive and delicious. It lacked atmosphere, but no one seemed to care. By the time we got there it would be packed.

***

Franny was surrounded by several admirers when I arrived. Apparently, word of her single status spread like wildfire through New Dub.(here's a spot where you could add in that description from earlier)  When we were in grade school Franny was all arms, legs, and red hair. Beside the definition of "gawky" in the dictionary was a photo of Franny. That changed when she turned fifteen. Her brothers, who used to tease her mercilessly, weren't having nearly so much fun now. Sean was rethinking his career in law enforcement before Franny met Gary. His job just took a turn for the worse. 

Tonight Franny dressed to dazzle. She was a firework in sequins mounted on four inch heels. I stepped behind her and whispered in her ear, "Shame on you. I picked up an eyeball on my way in here."

She laughed on a tinkling breath that I knew she'd been practicing and excused herself from her admirers."Thanks for the save," she said. "I was afraid you were never going to get here."

"I can tell you were miserable." She batted her eyes in innocence and elbowed her way to an empty table. "You never know when Mr. Right might show up and I want to make sure that he notices me. "

"Couldn't miss you wearing that."

"You are never going to meet anyone dressed like that."

I looked down at myself. Blue jeans, my favorite Nike sneakers, and a Mickey Mouse T-shirt. Everything was clean. "What?"

"You don't see it?"

"No stains."

She reached across the table and slapped me on the side of the head.

 "Ouch What was that for?"

"You are such a dope." She enunciated each word slowly. "Forget it," she said. "Very bad day. I am sorry you lost your job. Want to talk about it?"

I leaned across the table. "Bambi slept with my boss to beat me out of a promotion. Can you believe that?"

"I heard you decked her."

"After she smacked me."

She lifted her eyebrows.

"After I called her out on sleeping with a man twice her age," I said.

"Vision?" she asked.

"What else? One misplaced cufflink and my life unravels." I was tired of rehashing this already. "Your turn."

I prepped myself for thirty minutes of non-stop Gary.

"You can't tell anybody this because it's supposed to be confidential." I made a sign of the cross over my heart. She nodded and continued in a stage whisper. "It's Mr. Krueger."

***

My thoughts: Aside from my blue pen, I don't have much else to add. I'm still interested in Gigi and what's going to happen next.

Readers, your thoughts?

Tomorrow, I'll have part four...

Out of Touch - part two

Today I have the second part of OUT OF TOUCH from Robin at Your Daily Dose. When we last left Gigi, she had just gotten fired after blurting out something she shouldn't have known: that Bambi got the promotion because she slept with the boss.

I left the building with a police escort. Sean Fitzgerald, one of Franny's (who's Franny?) older brothers, and  his partner, and my ex-boyfriend, Leo Connolly, performed the honor.  

Leo marched back inside Brown and Bell to talk to Bambi once I was safely removed from the premises. Meanwhile, Sean gave me the hairy eyeball in the rearview mirror, along with a scalding lecture on moral responsibility. He finished and glared at me expectantly.

I stared back and tried desperately not to touch anything. Police cars were ripe with visions. All I could see in the mirror were piercing green eyes boring holes into me. They were topped by auburn eyebrows. His hair was no longer than a quarter inch. Even though I couldn't see them, I knew that he had the whitest, and possibly straightest, teeth of anyone I knew. However, good looks weren't going to sway me. We were next door neighbors and family. My history with the Fitzgeralds was long and tight-knit. After my father, John Reilly, was killed in the line of duty when I was one week away from turning six, they pseudo-adopted me. The oldest sister, Mary Margaret, married and produced the first grandchild, Kelly, a few years before my father died. When Kelly named her grandparents Grady and Mimi, it wasn't long before they were my Grady and Mimi, too. Do we need to know all this now?

"It wasn't my fault. At least not ALL my fault."

"Is that your statement?"

"Yes. I think I will stick with that."

He twisted in his seat so that we were facing one another."What is it with you? The only other time you've clocked someone was  Kenny Ross back when you were in kindergarten. Of course, he did sort of have it coming."

"Exactly" I  punctuated my point with a hand slap to his front seat. I yanked my hand back like the seat was laced with herpes.

"You're saying she had it coming?" He looked doubtful.

I nodded enthusiastically.

He shook his head before reminding me, "As I recall, all that netted you was a spanking that didn't allow you to sit down for a week and a new name that stuck to you like glue."A smile lit up his face that made my cheeks burn.

"Hey, buster, easy on the smiling up there. It wasn't that funny." 

The front passenger door opened and Leo angled in to the seat. He absorbed all of the air in the car.  His hair was black, eyes blue, and his lips skilled. Leo was my first serious boyfriend and I thought it was love. We spent one idyllic summer together between my junior and senior year of college. I still didn't know why it ended. 

When I heard through the grapevine that Leo and Sean became partners, I figured the odds were fairly good I'd see him again. Prior to that, I only glimpsed him in passing since he moved back home. I avoided him like spandex, poison ivy, and small, yappy dogs. The memories of that summer still had teeth and my heart was carefully stitched together with dental floss. The slightest puncture and it could all come undone. So, despite living in the same town for the last four years, this was the closest we had been since that summer. I expected awkward. What I didn't expect was a flash of desire that prickled the nape of my neck, as well as a place further south. Leo was still dynamite and a smart person didn't play with explosives.

"How did it go?" Sean asked Leo.

"Let's just say she decided not to press charges after some careful consideration. Several secretaries corroborated your story that she smacked you first. What was odd was that none of the men saw anything." I rolled my eyes."She made a lot of noise about pressing charges anyway. So, I told her that was her right, but with the eyewitness testimony I didn't see it going anywhere."

"What did she say?" I asked.

"She crossed her arms over her chest and pouted."

Undoubtedly she was pushing her breasts up in order to sway Leo. Maybe Roger Brown granted me a favor by sleeping with that tart. Never again would I have to watch Bambi flaunt around the office with overflowing cleavage and short skirts. What kind of name was Bambi anyway? A deer name. That's what.

"So, is she pressing charges?" Sean asked.

"No," Leo said.

I shifted my line of sight over to Sean, trying to ignore Leo. I A rivulet of sweat ran between my shoulder blades. I needed to get out of this car. "Sean, does that mean I can go home now?"

"Gigi, please go home."

I stepped into the sauna that was July. Sweet, sweet relief.

***

The address of my license has always been 3118 Edgewood Drive, Newfield, New York. As a New York City suburb, half of Newfield lines the train station platform for the daily hour plus commute. I live in a three square mile chunk of homes made up of mostly Irish families that the locals refer to as New Dublin or New Dub. (I'm not sure we need this info either. I'd rather have a description of the neighborhood once she enters it.) Since I have yet to reach the high water mark of six months of steady employment, that is the same address on my mother's license. It was tempting to detour to anywhere else because I dreaded the confrontation with her. However, it went out on the police scanner, so in a matter of hours, it would be all over New Dub and served up with the pot roast for dinner.

Eileen, aka  my mom, was waiting for me on the front porch swing. She didn't want me to call her Mom in public after my dad died (why?) and it didn't take long for her to become Eileen all the time. Only an emergency drove  Eileen outdoors in July.

All of the houses on our street look pretty much the same. They are all big and lumbering with wraparound porches meant for sitting outside and gossiping, with scraps of front yard, decorated with an oak tree or two that umbrella out like a quilt. Most houses have four stories, if you include the attic and cellar, and a bay window. Good description.  

She lit a cigarette as I stopped the car. That meant seven to eight minutes of conversation about my latest employment fiasco. The set of her shoulders indicated her tension. She was dressed for work at Last Call, a local bar, in a white blouse and black slacks. Her blonde hair was knotted at her neck. She was beautiful, like a Roman statue, or a Rembrandt painting, and just as untouchable.

I decided to attack this situation aggressively and took the steps to the porch at a quick clip. I settled myself on the swing beside her without her even missing a beat in her forward backward motion.

"Nora called to say that there was an incident at Brown and Bell." Eileen threw out the opening gambit and then waited for the criminal, which would be me, to offer up the details and incriminate herself. This was an old dance step, so I knew better than to open my mouth.

She flicked the ash off the end of her cigarette into the brown ceramic ash tray on the porch railing. The lines around her mouth tightened and she continued. "Nora said that Sean Fitzgerald was the officer at the scene and that you were involved." Whoever talked now lost and it was critical that it not be me.

She sighed and continued, "Nora said that you punched another employee in the nose and it might be broken."

"Really? I broke Bambi's nose?" Oh, crack. I should tape my mouth for these interrogations.

"So, it's true. You really did punch Bambi in the nose?"

"Yes, but it wasn't my fault!"

"This is starting to sound like Kenny Ross."

"Exactly! Bambi is a slut who will do anything for a promotion and I hope I did break her nose."

 She took a long drag on her cigarette and then exhaled. Without missing a beat in the swinging, she tapped the ash off the cigarette directly into the ashtray.  

Most people say that I am a carbon copy of my mother, which is untrue. I am  5'6" to her 5'2". There is a horrifying gap between my front teeth and I feel everything, while I wonder if she feels much of anything. However, we share straight blonde hair, blue eyes, straight nose, pale complexion, and an athletic build that is completely deceptive. On me, anyway. Eileen moves like a cat.

"Well, I hope you remembered that your thumb goes on the outside of your fist this time. You were lucky you didn't break it on that idiot, Kenny," she said. She smiled and I knew the worst was over.

"Yeah," I said, and grinned back at her.

"Do you remember the lessons I gave you on self-defense after Kenny?"

How could I forget? Even Franny spent that month over at our house learning Eileen's heretofore unknown self-defense techniques. My favorite was still the "kneecap to ankle" maneuver which can only be performed if you are wearing hard soled shoes and the "perp" gets you from behind. You placed the sole of your shoe on the top of his kneecap and pressed as hard as you could, sending it down to his ankle. The idea was to inflict maximum pain, disable him from pursuit, while you ran like hell. We didn't actually "practice" that one, but I've executed that move a hundred times in my imagination. She said my dad taught them to her when they were dating. 

"So Brown and Bell is history?"

"Yep. Even before the knockout punch."

"You want to talk about it?"

"Not really." It was embarrassing to be unemployed again. My capacity for losing jobs was starting to become legendary. If I continued at this rate no one was ever going to hire me.

"I could ask around at the diner or the bar..."

I cut her a look and she grimaced. She had already called in both of those favors. I had been fired from both the diner and the bar for the same reason: my income to outgo on the destruction of glassware were not in the same league. 

She took one last drag on her cigarette.

***

My thoughts: My first thought is we need to know who Franny is so that any reference to her makes sense. My second thought is that some of the descriptions are unnecessary while others would be perhaps be more useful in a different spot. My third is that I'm curious about where Gigi will go from here. I also wonder about her relationship with her mom. Why does she call her Eileen rather than mom? Does Eileen know about Gigi's little talent? Understand why all the jobs haven't worked out? All of this is enough for me to want to read on and find out what happens next.

Readers, what do you think? Any thoughts for Robin?