Redeeming Cain Is Nigh!!!

Greetings from a unusually chilly San Diego! My newest work, Redeeming Cain, has been completely penned. I am presently in the tedious work of editing the manuscript-hopefully I'll be done sometime this Spring. Below you'll find an exerpt from Maggie; the sentimental mother of the story's protagonist, Sean. Here's the setting: The family is playing an evening round of miniture golf together. Let me know what you think. Take care!


The voice of Maggie Davis as found in an excerpt from chapter three of Redeeming Cain:


As the boys and me walk back to the rental booth to replace Tim's triple bogey, I rub him briskly on his bony right arm and clutch him close to my side, subconsciously relieved he didn't fall into that dirty water.

Then Sean asks me, “Is Dad coming?”

“I'm not sure,” is my answer.

Rick was supposed to join us, though he's been working so hard lately. That darn McKinley case. It's always some case, one after another after another. Poor guy. He'll probably be too tired to come. I don't blame him. He's been saying how he wants to leave the firm soon and do something else. Exactly what, he's unsure of, but something-anything else. The funner and riskier, the better, he says. And he isn't one to just up and quit like that. He's serious, and I'm proud of him for it. It's kind of a turn on. So we'll have to see wha-.

“Yeeeah!”

“Oh! Nice one, dude!” I exclaim to Sean in a terribly desperate attempt at sounding cool.

Then I seamlessly segue into an inquiry I've been muling over in my mind for the past few weeks: “So, how's your senior project coming along?” the hopes that he'll finish it as smoothly and as effectively as the hole-in-one he just sank evident in the timbre of my voice.

“Mom, you just asked me about that three days ago,” he huffed, exasperated that his moment of glory was so short-lived.

I ask, “Did I? Oh, I'm sorry. I don't remember.”

“It's alright. I'm almost done. I'm gonna ask Mr. Tucker to be my sponsor.”

“That's right, you did tell me that,” I acknowledge. “Sounds good.”

I can't believe my oldest is already about to graduate from high school. Wow. Where did the time go? To think he'll be off at college this time next year, wrapping up his freshman year. He's such a bright kid. He's got a lot going for him. The next few weeks are going to be a whirlwind for him.
I'm thinking once Sean's gone and Timmy gets older and moves out, maybe Rick and I'll sell the house and move into some little, cute place out in the country. Or perhaps we'll start saving up now and travel the world. We never did have a honeymoon. And I've always wanted to go to Tahiti . . . I don't know. But we want to do something.

It's amazing how intertwined we all are-what Sean and Tim do, what they get or don't get into-has such an effect on what Rick and I end up doing. Or not doing. When your kids are in a state of transition, you can't help but go along for the ride with them. Sean's almost grown now. So it would seem a whole new phase of life is starting for us, too.

As the boys finish their game-Sean beating Timmy but not by as much as I would've thought, (Timmy's getting better!), we walk back to the booth and check their clubs and balls back in. Then we make our way to the makeshift dining area where we order a large pepperoni pizza, an order of spicy buffalo wings, and a pitcher of Coke. Sean fusses over Timmy nabbing the biggest pizza slice. Timmy pours too much soda into his red plastic cup, its overflow spreading across the table top and instantly saturating a tall stack of clean, white napkins; over this Sean, too, fusses. I bite into a chicken drummette and realize my palette for spicy foods isn't the same as it was when I was Sean's age. I nibble only passively at the tiny leg before finally and completely giving up and trying my hand at a sliver of pizza. And both with swollen mouths full of gummy, half-eaten food, the boys argue about whether Sean golfed fairly or cheated to gain victory-his actions on hole #17 falling under particular scrutiny. They're loud. They're tiring.

And I'd have it no other way.

The 2011 Bridport Prize

Hey, everyone. Check out the link below for this year's Bridport Prize literary contest, which takes place in England:


www.bridportprize.org.uk

My New Book's Hit the Presses!

I am pleased to announce that my third book, The 55-Plus Millionaires' Club, has just been published and released by PublishAmerica, Inc!

The 55-Plus Millionaires' Club-188 pages, Fiction-is the tale of Frank Lessings, a charming 61-year-old senior citizen who enjoys a modest life with Francine, his lovely wife of 40 years. One morning, he suffers a near-death experience, the cause of which soon reveals a legendary tale rooted deeply in American history. The Lessings, along with six other seniors, embark on a rewarding journey to find that the legend is reality; the end result endowing each of them with millions of dollars worth of hidden treasure.

Yet the blessing of wisdom that comes with age is lost by the group after the money and the glamour it brings adversely affects them all. Their riches begin to ruin their lives; a veridical portrait of the power with which great wealth can dominate even the meekest of humanity. Can they once again find that wisdom and right all that has gone so horribly wrong before it's too late?

Click here for more information on The 55-Plus Millionaires' Club.

Here is a excerpt from The 55-Plus Millionaires' Club:

The sun rose in a cloudless, washed-out blue sky on Monday's ante meridiem. Frank awoke to the stove top-warmed aroma of breakfast-though it not a familiar one. Puzzled, he entered the bathroom, took a pee, washed his hands, and shuffled his way to the kitchen in old, holey house slippers and even holier red plaid boxers.

“Good morning, dear. Hungry?” Francine asked in a rather chipper way.

“Of course!” he replied, taking his usual seat at the table. “But-.”

She placed a bowl and a plate down in front of him. The bowl contained his accustomed oatmeal, though the pat of butter was paper-thin; more like a sliver, and already disintegrated-the brown sugar was totally absent. Even the oats themselves appeared different; they were fat and looked as if a thousand hard chews wouldn't tame them. On the plate next to the bowl sat two hard boiled eggs, sliced; a half grapefruit; two flat, dry turkey bacon slices the same color as the inside of his mouth and three small tomato disks besprinkled with pepper, but no salt-the shaker was no longer on the table, either. And still no basil.

“Uhh . . . what the heck is this?” he asked.

It wasn't that the food didn't look good or edible; it just wasn't the “Frank Special!” He didn't move, hoping that his wife had accidentally placed her own meal before him or that she was playing a practical joke on him and would laugh as she revealed a piping hot plate of the “Special” from behind her back in due course. But it wasn't April 1st.

“Well I thought a little change might do you good,” she remarked.

A little change? He shouldn't have been much surprised. His near-death encounter a mere four days prior would have encouraged any wife to be concerned and health-conscious enough to amend their beloveds' diet habits. He still didn't move-only staring blankly at her offering with a slightly wrinkled mien. He felt like mortality itself were staring at him in return from that plate.

“Well it won't kill ya to eat a bit healthier!” she insisted.

He sighed heavily, stabbing the elliptical slice of boiled egg with his fork and raising it to his clenching, unhappy lips. He knew better than to press his wife. She did have a point. He also knew once the scare from his choking eventually and inevitably died down, the “Special” would make its way back to the table, the same as before. After his lean and uninspiring breakfast, he showered and dressed.

The Writing Center

Hi, everyone! Welcome to my writing center. I am happy to announce that I have just finished my first full-length fiction novel, Redeeming Cain. I hope to get it represented by a literary agent early 2011. Check back here frequently for updates, writing tips, quotable quotes, and links to local and national writing contests. Thanks for visiting!

"If you doubt, you fail." -Joshua Lane