Drum roll please...............................
I have settled on a title for my third novel. Barring unforeseen circumstances, it will come to the light of day sometime between now and whenever (year's end?) with the title of: SECOND SHOT
It's still a work in progress as I am currently working on the third draft. After that, draft # 4. After that, your guess is as good as mine. Perhaps deemed worthy to begin querying literary agents. Maybe deciding from the start to cut out the middle man of Big 5 book publishers (remember when there were so many more than five of them?) and publishing on my own under the umbrella of M.U.D. House Books. Or perhaps some plan in between that has not presented itself yet. We shall see. In the meantime, here's a brief sneak peek excerpt from the beginning of Second Shot. I won't entirely rule out the future possibilities of revising this section, or moving it to another part of the book. For now I like it well enough as is currently written and placed. Therefore I'm allowing you to check it out, plus a little extra that you'll find below the excerpt. Let me know what you think. Much more to come. Happy Reading!
~~~~~
It’s
true, what they say. Your life DOES flash before your eyes. Or at least I
suppose it’s a flash when you go quickly. When death takes its time, the wound
deep enough to bring down the curtain but not in a particular rush, then
memories meander. They come in no discernible order. Certainly not
chronological. Perhaps there is a reason for this pattern but figuring it out
is not a primary concern. Continuing to breathe takes top priority, but how
long you get to do so is a matter beyond control. You let recollections wash
over you, try to cling to the sweeter ones, prolong them if possible. But this
is another matter over which you do not have much say. A memory fades whether
you want it to or not and the next one takes its turn at center stage. Some
feel important and make understandable appearances. Others seem insignificant, and
yet here they are among what may be your final ones. If it was up to me, they
would all be centered on her. The rest of it, whether deemed noteworthy or
irrelevant, is a chain of details that add up to the life I have lived. I would
prefer to dwell exclusively on who I love. But it isn’t up to me. I no longer
get to make choices. Along with essential redness, memories spill as they wish
to occur. Fade to whatever comes at the end of this predicament. Probably
silence.
Posts
