The Thursday Excerpt - Susan Whitfield

Today's exceprt comes from author and fellow North Carolinian, Susan Whitfield!

She is author of The Logan Hunter Mystery series. Her latest book is Hell Swamp and she's already working on a fourth book, Gator Creek.


HELL SWAMP excerpt:

I could hear myself screaming. I snatched out of the fingers’ grip and fell. Fell a long way. Then the dirt hit my face. I was being buried alive! I scrambled sideways when I realized The hand wrapped around my throat, the long nails on its fingers cut my skin. I screamed. there was nothing to stop me. When I hit the table, I woke up, piled on the floor with the aloe plant from the bedside table and all its dirt on top of me. The nightmare I’d once had was back and more frightening than ever. I sat up on the floor and spit out dirt, flipping the plant unto the floor. I trembled, realizing I had peed in my pants.

I saw tree limbs hanging out over the river but I was past them before I could react. I soon saw more branches and grabbed at them as they broke off in my fingers. I’m not sure how far I went downstream before I saw the tree, bent far enough into the river I might have a chance to grab something on it. I hit hard when the river suddenly hocked me into a thick limb. I managed to hang on to substantial tree growth by shear determination. The current was stalwart. If I didn’t get to the bank fast, I’d be going on another water ride. I reached deep inside for enough strength to throw my leg over in spite of the river pulling on me. Once on the tree, I shimmied to the bank and stretched out until I caught my breath and calmed profuse shivering.

My eyes peered over the edge of the loft floor and I almost fell backwards. I’m certain my eyes flew out of their sockets and then withdrew as far as unbelief would allow them. Bones. Hair. Teeth. What I’d thought was fertilizer was apparently lime, to keep down odor and rodents. I climbed down once my feet let me, and ran to the Hummer to call Sheriff Gunn. As I dialed the number, pain invaded my eye and the world went dark.

Some folks were already setting up yard decorations for Christmas. Even Mr. Grady went all out. Colored lights that ran back and forth on some kind of netting covered his roof. I looked in my rearview and since nothing was behind me, I stopped in the middle of the road and giggled until I broke out in a full-blown howl. In front of the house a partially inflated and extremely jolly Santa waved at me, and he appeared to be humping Rudolph, well inflated and right in front of him. Next to this inflatable, Frosty and his family came to life in a snow globe. At this point in the inflation process, Frosty’s carrot nose seemed firmly wedged in Mrs. Frosty’s large white buttress. He grinned to the brims of his top hat.

I jumped to my feet as everyone started to look up and pray, each prayer very loud and different from the next. The prayers reached a fever pitch when the preacher handed Rose a vial, which she held up and poured down her throat. The service crescendoed as Rose Paul Hill let out a yell louder than anyone in the church. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. All of a sudden her loose false teeth bounced out of her mouth and across the floor, breaking into several pieces. The room became frighteningly quiet.

Rose fell to the floor; nobody tried to catch her. I worked my way to the end of the pew and ran to the front. The preacher at first seemed delighted that the Spirit moved me—until I stopped and knelt beside Rose.

“What did you drink, Rose?”

“Strychnine.”

“That’s poison!”

“I’m anointed, child. It won’t kill me.” Rose Paul’s unconvincing voice grew weak. I glanced over at her broken dentures, wondering if the dental bill would finish her off. I saw movement under the front pew and blinked several times. My eyes were clear and focused, and, more than likely, outside their sockets.

“Holy Shit!” I yelled out, snatching a raggedy old toupee off a man’s head as he let out a yelp. I threw it at the snake, hoping he’d think it was an animal he could overpower.

It didn’t work. The humongous snake, thicker than my upper arm, came straight toward me. I could see his beady eyes under the hairpiece as he moved swiftly across the wood floor. Grabbing the Glock from under my jacket, I aimed and shot the rattlesnake twice.

“She’s got a gun!”

People screamed and stampeded for the doors. The preacher and some of the men jumped me, wrestled the gun from me, and pinned me to the wood floor. Somebody lifted Rose away from the ruckus.

“What are you doing? A snake under that pew. I killed it for you.”

Preacher Hawfield shrieked into my face, “You imbecile! That snake and all the others are for this worship service!”

All the others?

Two hefty men escorted me out of the church and deposited me in the dirt near my Hummer. One man threw my gun down beside me.

I was still on the ground when Preacher Hawfield appeared again. I thought he’d peck my face with his beak of a nose. “You’re not welcome here. Don’t you ever come back!”

You can find Susan here:
Susan Whitfield
Susan Whitfield’s Blog
As well as on Twitter, FaceBook, and many writer's sites!

Author Karen Hancock

This week, the Christian Fiction Blog Alliance is introducing
The Enclave Bethany House (August 1, 2009)
by Karen Hancock

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Karen Hancock has won Christy Awards for each of her first four novels--Arena and the first three books in the Legends of the Guardian-King series, The Light of Eidon, The Shadow Within, and Shadow over Kiriath. She graduated from the University of Arizona with bachelor's degrees in biology and wildlife biology. Along with writing, she is a semi-professional watercolorist and has exhibited her work in a number of national juried shows. She and her family reside in Arizona.

ABOUT THE BOOK:

When Lacey McHenry accepts a prestigious research fellowship at the world-renowned Kendell-Jakes Longevity Institute, she sees it as a new start on life. But a disturbing late-night encounter with an intruder leads to an unexpected cover-up by Institute authorities, and she soon realizes there's more going on than she ever imagined.
She finds a supporter in genetics researcher Cameron Reinhardt. However, Reinhardt is a favorite of the Institute's director, and she can't help wondering if he, too, is in on the cover-up. The brilliant but absentminded researcher turns out to have his own secrets, some of them dark and deadly. The Enclave is characterized by adventure, intrigue, spiritual analogy, and romance, all set in an unusual but fully realized world--one that may have its foundations on earth but which, the more one learns of it, doesn't seem much like the earth we know at all.

If you'd like to read the first chapter of The Enclave, go HERE
The book link is: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0373442726

Visual Inspiration

Ever get stuck because you're unsure about a landmark?

Ever reread one of your descriptions and question the authenticity? Ever just draw a total blank and don't know where to begin????

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This is where the world wide web comes in handy!

You can't remember the layout of Kenilworth Castle or its Keep? Do a search for the official website and you'll find tons of photos!

Or the view from one of the caves at Bandelier National Park has you scratching your head? Do a search!

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And don't just search the official websites. Look for the images in a Google Image search.

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If you are basing your story in a real location or near a real landmark or building, you need to be accurate in your descriptions. (If your story includes such details, of course.) But if your character is in Maine and your lighthouse description sounds like one that resides in Oregon, readers familiar with either location will know!

Not only will actual photos help you with the physical location, but with your lighting & direction. If your character is on the Carolina coast and the sun is setting in the west, that's a problem - UNLESS they are at Atlantic Beach, in which case, you'd be correct!

So do your research on real locations.

And for goodness sakes, be sure to get the size ratio right!

Unless of course, your book is "Calvin vs. Godzilla!"

Diana Black Discusses A New Breed of Woman

Please welcome today, Diana Black!

A New Breed of Woman: Diana Black Discusses
WOOF: Women Only Over Fifty

Woof woof woof woof woof?

Wait. Reminder to self: Not everyone speaks WOOF.

At times it seems that way, though, since the launch of WOOF: Women Only Over Fifty. At book clubs, signings and speaking events, there’s never a lack of ladies who share and understand the lingo.

Key topics like night sweats, mood swings, hot flashes and memory…uh, something, I forget…incite a flurry of conversation.

But occasionally I meet a woman and while I’m describing the book, she’ll look at me like, until then, she’d been lost in a desert. Finally an oasis—another woman who understands!

In our information saturated society it’s hard to fathom a middle-aged woman could ever feel alone and isolated. Impossible to log on the Internet, flip on the TV or read a magazine without encountering an explosion of menopausal material. (“Boomers” in every sense of the word!)

But media is, for some, too impersonal. Today, even with personalities like Oprah, Ellen and Diane Sawyer, there’s something about one middle-aged woman standing face-to-face with another 50+ woman that makes it more relatable. Our joys, sorrows and concerns are near to us. We’ve evolved little in that regard since those first grunts between women cooking up a mess of Tyrannosaurus rex. We still seek to communicate person-to-person.

All that said, we’ve also developed into a very private society. We hide behind email and caller ID, setting our boundaries and discouraging genuine personal contact. Would community Internet sites be better named “anti-social” networking? Is that the reason it’s easier for a woman to discuss with me, a perfect stranger, age-related issues?

Or could it be I’m an author who didn’t sign-up for the job until after 50? So it appears I have special powers. That I’m some expert. Or maybe, I’m just not afraid to admit to and talk about my age and all that it entails. Perhaps therein lies the bond.

My co-authors and I wrote WOOF: Women Only Over Fifty for ourselves. Three friends willing to openly share silly, serious and sisterly life experiences.

Naturally we hoped the book would catch on. Still, who honestly knew it would connect women across the world as well as the fence.

But, why shouldn’t a book do that? Why shouldn’t three intuitive, inventive and intriguing women make a difference? Throughout time women have been experts at reading between the lines, interpreting the unspoken word and using language in inventive and inspirational ways.

For example: Will you ever again hear Woof! without thinking of women embracing maturity—Women Only Over Fifty? -- Diana Black

Diana Black co-authored the humor book WOOF: Women Only Over Fifty (Echelon Press) and co-developed the safety program, To School, To School in the Big Yellow Bus. She illustrated The Moose Who Lost Christmas and wrote and illustrated Wendel Wordsworth: No Words for Wendel (BevBruemmerBooks). A graduate of Indiana University, Black lives in Georgia.

WOOF: Women Only Over Fifty (Echelon Press/ISBN: 978-1-59080-606-7)
By Diana Black, Mary Cunningham and Melinda Richarz BaileyNonfiction/Humor; 160 pages