Would You Read On? hosted by Diana L. Flegal

Thank you for stopping by our Would You Read On? page.

This will be our last posting for this column. We will post a first page periodically but will use Weds to also offer you a few thoughts from Diana as well as guest posts from  publishing industry folk with great information and authors of excellent blogs.

I hope you will stop back in Weds and see what we will be offering.

 The blindfold sharpened Ali’s senses. With blood pounding in his ears, he searched the night sounds for clues to his location. He felt concrete beneath his feet...they must be in the city...but which? They’d driven long enough to reach Makkah or the fishing villages near the sea. They were outside—he was sure of that—and he felt exposed, vulnerable. The arid desert night was cooling rapidly and he tried not to shiver. A bead of sweat clung to his forehead but he didn’t dare touch it. No sudden moves. He felt the presence of the two men that brought him there. They were close, and probably watching.
            The drive had been disorienting, then the blind walk, and now the waiting. Fear gnawed at him. He reminded himself that he had chosen to be here.
            Ali heard three taps on a wooden door, then the whine of oiled hinges. Men spoke in hushed tones. Someone pushed him forward and the door closed without a sound. It was dark inside, darker than the street.
             “Were you followed?”
            Ali knew that voice.
            “Laa,” another man answered.
            A pair of strong hands pulled off his blindfold. In the shadows, Ali recognized a foreigner. It was Michael Givens.
            “Salaam, welcome,” Givens said.
            “Salaam,” Ali answered.
            Givens cracked the door open again and scanned the alley. Satisfied the streets were safe, he shut the door and bolted both locks. “Almost there.”

Would You Read On? hosted by Diana Flegal

Thank you for stopping by our Would You Read On? page.
Please let us know if you would continue reading in the comment section below.

It was quiet. Uncommon quiet. Slade Jackson cracked his eyelids to the blue light of dawn, scanning the red-rock canyon below. Things looked all right, but the desert could be like a strange woman: pretty and prickly at the same time.

Still, the dun was quiet too, which was a good sign, since horses were generally onto trouble before men. Slade relaxed a touch, rolled over to check on the new filly, and like-to jumped out of his skin.

“I’ll be taking back my horse,” she said from atop an oversized sorrel. Her voice was as hard and cool as the barrel of the Spencer Carbine pointed his way. Her eyes narrowed. “Where are the rest?”

“Apaches got ‘em, I reckon.”

“Likely story.” She nodded toward the dun, which she’d already managed to untie. “Then how did you wind up with her?”

He paused to study his adversary. Her delicate features belied her fortitude.

She arched an eyebrow. “I asked you a question?”

 “Some young buck hunting hair came across my track and ran me down. He shot my paint out from under me, so I finished him and took this one.”

“Well, she’s not yours, so I’ll be taking her now.”

“With all due respect ma’am, you can’t leave a man alone in the desert without a ride.”

“Watch me.”

“But it’s the dry season, ma’am. That’s the same as murder.”

“Not murder. Justice.” She pointed up the hill. “I tossed your guns up there in the brush. You can hunt them down after I’m gone. Look at it this way; it’s better than a judge would give you.”

Heat crept up the back of his neck. “I told you, ma’am, I’m not a thief.”

She said nothing, just lowered her reins, and slapped the horses. Her red hair whirled like a dust devil as she disappeared into the rising sun. 

Would Your Read On?

Last weeks brave author was  Annie Carter.

Annie dabbles in a variety of pursuits, from writing poetry to teaching German. She began blogging earlier in the year at writelightuk.wordpress.com, mainly on culture, family and faith.

The Book Beyond Time is her first novel, that she was inspired to write as a coming of age fantasy for her three sons. The story follows thirteen year old Marcus who embarks on a quest that he’s not quite sure he wants to follow. Set in the land of techno-medieval Krinton, three hundred years after the Great Catastrophe of 2025, Marcus tackles physical and spiritual forces to make his way cross country to the elusive Kingdom of the North before Krinton’s impending doom. The excerpt is from the prologue; Ree-Mya is Marcus’s mother.

A website is underway for the novel and should go live by the end of the year. Check back soon at thebookbeyondtime.com

Merry Christmas everyone!
Diana

Would You Read on? hosted by Diana Flegal

Thank you for stopping by. Today's first page submission is a upper middle grade fantasy adventure. :-)

Please let us know if you would read on by leaving a critique in the comments below.
And check out the reveal of last weeks author at the bottom of the page :-)

                                          *****

Trumpet blasts resounded across the bustling city square.  A huge knight, donned in full armour, stood on the wooden stage that had been erected especially for this momentous occasion. Thousands still flocked slowly into the ancient, crumbling walls of the historic city of Erundel, as they awaited the arrival of Treanthor, their admired emperor. His yearly visit had been long anticipated.

  As crowds pressed forward to catch a better view of the knight, the warm air became rich with the smell of bodies clothed in thick woven cotton and leather, mingled with the scent of ale, horses and various potions, which were being hawked by traders at the entrance to the gates. Wafts of smoke from stallholders cooking chickens on spits blended in to create a unique aroma that was unusual to newcomers to the city.

   Young children waved flags enthusiastically and joined as everyone began to chant Tre-an-thor! Tre-an-thor! Tre-an-thor! Several boys climbed the willow trees that lined the furthest side of the quad, waving to those below, while some older ones pointed their prized ska-swords into the air, showing off the gleaming light and sound feature on their xanth-powered gadgets.

    Rumours had circulated that one day, xanth would be able to power electricity once again in people’s homes – perhaps a return to the way of life before the Great Catastrophe of 2025. Treanthor always declared that he was working towards it – but insisted that it would take time and, for now, the people should be content with all that he had already achieved for them. 

    Today would mark the beginning of a new era. That was the message that had been sent out into all the towns and villages. Those who came to Erundel would be the first to witness his latest, marvelous invention; something far greater than ska swords or glow toys or magic tricks.
    Ree-Mya, a young mother with long, dark hair, stood among the throngs of people, one of the last few to be let into the square before the mammoth gates were locked shut by guards.

             

Would you read on?

Last weeks contributing author was Eddie Jones.

Eddie is a North Carolina-based writer and Acquisition Editor for Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas. He is a three-time winner of the Delaware Writers Conference and his young adult novel, The Curse of Captain LaFoote, won the 2012 Moonbeam Award and 2011 Selah Award. He co-writes the He Said, She Said devotions, available at ChristianDevotions.us.

Dead Man’s Hand, the first book in the Caden Chronicles mystery series, released from Zonderkidz in November, 2012.

Eddie’s new devotional book, My Father’s Business, features Biblical insights and practical applications for those seeking God's "yearning" (will) for their life. A great book for anyone who longs for more than mere "work."

You can visit with Eddie at  http://www.eddiejones.org/ .

Would You Read On? hosted by Diana Flegal

Good Wednesday to you all. I hope you have recovered from your Thanksgiving festivities and are back to your writing.

Today we are featuring a inspirational nonfiction page for your critique. Let us know if you would read on.

For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Jeremiah 29:11 NIV

            When I began my journey out of the ashes of pity into the beauty of purpose I had no formal direction. At the age of sixteen I had an unplanned abortion that left me unable to cope with realities of  life. I quickly found myself drowning in a quagmire of drugs and unprotected sex. I no longer cared about myself, those close to me, or even God. I shut down and turned off.

            I was lost on a path to nowhere headed toward the road of destruction. After my abortion I hid deep within my soul. I became a dead soul. Love was no longer part of me. It was dead as well.

            For several years I hungered for affection. I was starved for something I felt I didn't deserve. I left God on the side of the road, but He never left me. God took me on many journey's before I found my way back.

            Throughout those journey's, He never left. He guided me into the woman I am now. I traveled down many roads to discover what God wanted and what I needed. I climbed out of the ashes of pity and into the beauty of purpose.

             I faltered and failed, but God picked me up and showed me where I needed to be. He showed me I could turn my ashes into beauty, I had purpose, and I COULD learn to live again.

            This book is not about me or my abortion. It is about YOU! Every woman at some point in her life has suffered, hurt, and lost their way. This book was born out of my suffering to help you realize there is hope. God loves you. You can get through the journey, you can climb out of the ashes, you can find your purpose. You can learn to live again, and you can create a new you.

Would you read on? Kindly let us know by leaving a comment below.
We appreciate your stopping by.
Write on!

Would You Read On? hosted by Diana Flegal

Would You Read On? Please let us know in the comment section below.

THE VIEWING        

The first time I laid eyes on the stranger he was stretched out flat on his back in the sunshine on the edge of my great Uncle Enoch’s sweet tater patch.

Dressed in a fancy Sunday-go-to-meeting suit with his hands pulled up and across his chest, he looked an awful lot like a dead man fixing to be tossed down into a burying hole, but I reckoned right away he wasn’t. I came close, close enough to see his chest was rising and falling so I knew he was breathing, slow and steady like a turtle taking a stroll down the road, but he was breathing.

Seeing him sort of sudden like I did came close to scaring the life plum out of me, so I whirled around and tore off down the hill to the barn to get my Papa.

With my overalls’ strap loose and flapping in the breeze, and my bare feet making a slapping noise against the dirt path as I ran, I commenced to hollering long before I ever reached the old barn.

“Papa! Papa! There’s a man stretched out in the tater field behind the hog pen. You’ve gotta come.”

Papa didn’t answer, didn’t even so much as peek his head out of the barn, so I called out to him again.

“Papa! Papa, are you in there?”

I rounded the front of the barn. With both my hands, and leaning all my weight against it, I cracked open one of the old, weathered doors. The barn smell I was in love with smacked me in the face as the door squeaked open. The odor of leather saddles, horse manure, and fresh cut hay was a welcoming aroma to me and no matter how many hours a day I spent inside, I never tired of being in the old barn.

“Papa, you need to come quick,” I said, huffing and puffing and out of breath from the run. “There’s a stranger laid out behind the hog pen.”

He didn’t respond. He didn’t even turn or look my way. Matter of fact, I wasn’t sure at that moment he even believed what I was saying, which would have hurt my feelings a bit if I hadn’t been prone to lying.

We want to thank author Pauline Creeden for offering us her first page last week. I thought it was fun having a Steampunk page on our blog.

Stop by Pauline's website to learn more about her and this genre.

http://paulinecreeden.com

Would You Read On? hosted by Diana Flegal

Today we thought we would offer you a first page submission to a middle reader spooky story.
Let us know in the comments if you would read on. 

Chapter One: A Case I Can Sink My Teeth Into

Death found me on a hot June morning in Walt Disney World’s Tower of Terror.

Minutes before I heard about the vampire in Transylvania, North Carolina, I pulled the seat belt across my waist and showed my hands to the bellhop. Behind me buckles snapped shut; arms shot up. The smiling service attendant in his maroon and gold cap bid us a pleasant stay at the Hollywood Hotel and retreated into the boiler room. Service doors sealed us inside, and the elevator yanked us up.

The young boy seated next to me whispered to his mom, “Why did he make us raise our hands?”

 “So when they snap our picture it looks like we’re having fun.”

“And to prove you’re not holding anything in your hand,” I offered. “See, if you place a penny on your palm, like this, when the car drops the coin will—”

“Don’t you dare try that, Grayson!” said the boy’s mom, glaring at me.

I shoved the penny back in my pocket and muttered, “Wasn’t suggesting he do it. Just saying that’s why they make you put your hands up.”

The car stopped on the thirteenth floor. Doors opened. Our elevator car rumbled down a darkened hallway, and the theme song from the Twilight Zone began playing through headrest speakers. A short ways in front, Rod Serling magically appeared, warning riders: “You unlock this door with the key of imagination. Beyond it is another dimension—a dimension of sound, a dimension of sight, a dimension of mind. You're moving into a land of both shadow and substance, of things and ideas. You've just crossed over into… (dramatic pause)… the Twilight Zone.”

Instantly a barrage of objects shot past—a wooden door, Einstein’s formula for relativity, an eyeball. Windowpanes shattered and shards of glass morphed into twinkling stars. Through the speakers a little girl began singing, “It’s raining, it’s pouring…”

Buried in my front pocket my smartphone began vibrating. I pulled it out and quickly read the text message. “Phone Me now. RIGHT NOW! got killer of a story for you! – Calvin.”

Right, I thought. Bet it’s just another zombie fest or supposed house haunting.

See, weeks earlier I’d signed on to be a reporter for the Cool Ghoul Gazette—an online website dedicated to exploring ghosts, zombies, werewolves, vampires and all things supernatural and freaky. We have a huge readership in England, the British Ghost sightings are huge over there. Anyway, for months my parents had been after me to get a summer job. Mom thought I needed to start saving for college. Dad kept saying it was time I did something other than sit around and watch TV, even though watching TV is my job.

No kidding. Watching television (online, mostly) is my job. I’m a founding member of TV Crime Watchers, a group of teens that analyzes and catalogs crime, cop, and detective shows. We have a huge database of episodes going back almost thirty years, and we use this information to catch real murderers. At least, when law enforcement officials will let us help. Our little group has an eighty percent close rate. That means in most cases we can correctly identify the killer before the real detectives can. Problem is, TV Crime Watchers doesn’t pay, and making money is apparently a big deal. Especially for my Mom and Dad. Our family is a victim of what Dad calls, “the Great Recession.”

I think what he means is that we’re middle class poor.

Before our trip to Disney, he was complaining about how his pension at the automotive parts company was wiped out in the stock market. Mom thinks we should sell our home, but according to the real estate company Mom works for, our house is worth less now than when we bought it. The only way we could afford the trip to Disney was to drive two days in our ten-year-old Buick and stay in a three-star motel on the outskirts of Orlando. So yeah, right now having a job is tops in our family.

“Can’t pay for the good life without a good job,” Dad keeps reminding me. “And sometimes, you can’t even pay for it, then.”

Dad hoped I’d get a job cutting grass like my cousin Fred. Fred has like a gazillion customers. He made enough last summer to buy his own truck—a used Ford Ranger that has over a hundred thousand miles on it and leaks oil like a Gulf oil well.

But I’m not Fred.

To me the idea of working outside all summer and coming home sweaty and tired is, well… work. Mom was after me to get a job dog sitting, but the last thing I wanted to do was to spend my summer picking up poop in a plastic bag. That’s just gross.

So after our trip to Deadwood Canyon, when I solved the murder of one of the ghost town’s actors, I landed the job at the Cool Ghoul Gazette, and now my editor was texting me with a “killer” assignment that I was pretty sure would be a huge waste of my time because most of the stuff he sends me is.

 The elevator car stopped. Another set of doors opened, this time revealing a bird’s eye view of Walt Disney World’s Hollywood Studios theme park. Crowds choked Sunset Boulevard and moved in random directions like energetic ants bent on beating the other ants to the top of the hill. Children lined up near a pretzel stand to get Buzz Lightyear’s autograph. Parents milled about in the designated stroller area.

Our car dropped.

Girls screamed. Kids shrieked. Not me. You couldn’t have blasted the smile off my face with a power washer.