Calling All Canadian Authors discussion

Calling all Canadian authors! Share your writing, published or unpublished. Post your favourite excerpts here (1-2 paragraphs, please). And add your links.

Wave of Terror

The violent episode played in Marusia's mind over and over and at night she struggled with nightmares. She did not mention it to her parents, who noticed a change in her, but asked no questions. Her mother was distressed to see her daughter so miserable and watched her closely, suspecting the worst. Marusia became a virtual recluse. For the longest time she stayed in the house and didn't venture even into the garden. She busied herself sweeping, dusting, washing. But Sobakin's eyes were always there. The appalling scenes were re-enacted in her mind again and again, and chills rushed up her spine at the thought of his cold fingers upon her flesh. She had no appetite. There was nowhere for her to turn for help, not to her family, not to her friends, and not to the authorities. The thought of Sobakin coming to track her down paralyzed her with fear; she was convinced that in the end he would get her, one way or the other.

What an intriguing little excerpt, Erma. The names are beautiful, that was the first thought I had. The second is that I have to read this book.

Thanks, Renee. Thought I'd get the ball rolling. Looks like it's your turn next.

Hmm, well I guess I could post a blurb from something I'm working on. Let's look and see what I have.

Am looking forward to it.

[image error]
Passing Fancies

Here's a micro-fiction story from Passing Fancies:

Dark, New World

The world transformed today.

The sun went red, the sky opened and the Shadow Hoard poured forth into our realm. People ran, the hungry wailing hunters in pursuit, but there was no escape. Hundreds, thousands were taken, lifted into the heavens, screaming.
We have no hope, for the clouds have darkened and turned into rain.

A rain of blood, sticky and thick.

Oh, that last line is chilling. I love it A.F. And here I am forgetting to post mine again. Let's see, here's one. This is from I Do, an unpublished manuscript I'm working on the final edits for.

Mom’s voice struggled, but Garrett couldn’t make out her words. He rolled his eyes at the damn woman’s excuses; had she waited for their Dad to get home, she wouldn’t be in trouble now and Garret could sleep.

A loud thwack, then Mother’s cry. Garrett stared at the spots the streetlights made on the blackened windows, blurred by condensation. Puddles formed in the ruts on the road below. Almost summer and still cold and wet. He vowed that when he grew up, he’d live anywhere but Beverley which was, in his opinion, the shittiest little town in Ontario.

Petey whimpered and scurried across the room to climb in the bed beside Garret. “You better go back to your bed, Pete. If he comes up and finds you hiding in my bed like a sissy, you’re gonna get it too.”

Renee wrote: "Oh, that last line is chilling. I love it A.F. And here I am forgetting to post mine again. Let's see, here's one. This is from I Do, an unpublished manuscript I'm working on the final edits for.
..."

Intriguing excerpt, Renee. Is it a thriller, or more general fiction?

Actually it's mainstream fiction. It is very dark though, focusing on the cycle of abuse and why we get trapped in it, how hard it is to break free.

A.F: Yes, I agree with Renee, the piece is chilling - the stuff nightmares are made of.

Renee: I like how you set the mood with the setting and weather. The piece is quite atmospheric. Are you finished the book or maybe at the editing stage?

I'm finished, working on final edits. I figure this edit, send to readers and then a final edit to tidy all the bits and pieces before I send it out into the world, begging for publication.

Thanks for the comment about atmosphere, what's funny is the rough draft has no atmosphere, none. I had to go back and fill it all in.

Good thing you did, I always like to get a visual of a book's surroundings, even if it's minimal. Looking forward to the full product. You're topic is a tough one, too often with no happy resolutions.

It is a really tough one, and that's why I'm so proud of this book. I wasn't kind, not to any of the characters. It brings the reader pretty low, but the end, while realistic, proves there is a light at the end of the tunnel, but in situations like this, it takes an enormous amount of strength and self esteem to break free. It is possible.

This is an important book, especially if it shows light at the end of the tunnel. We all have friends who have entrapped themselves in bad situations (and they are so frustrating!). But a book like this might show them that they're not alone, and that they can take charge and not prolong codependency and/or be enablers.

That was the idea behind it. I've experienced it and know many who still struggle through it, and I wanted to give women, and men, in the same situation that it doesn't have to be like that.

There's a quote I love by Robert Frost and it goes something like this, "Never be bullied into silence. Never allow yourself to be made a victim. Accept no one's definition of your life; Define yourself."

That's basically what I hope people take away from this book.

In the meantime, as you go along, have you considered sending self-contained excerpts or chapters out to lit. magazines, online or hard copy? That's what I do. It starts things moving.

No, I didn't know that was possible. Interesting. I'll look into that. Thanks.

If you do, try in the US also (the market is much bigger). Of course, rejection slips might be brutal (or maybe not), but eventually ... When I was working on Wave ... I had an excerpt published in lit. mags, one in Wisconsin and one in Pennsylvania.

Thanks, I'll do that. I'll try Canadian publications too, you never know.

Erma wrote: "Calling all Canadian authors! Share your writing, published or unpublished. Post your favourite excerpts here (1-2 paragraphs, please). And add your links."
Big Bobby Boom! and the Marble Mayhem
"Being an undersized kid can really stink. No one knows this better than Elliot Blue, who finds himself thrust into a new school in a new town where he already has been made the a target by the self-proclaimed school bully, Big Bobby Boolacheck "Big Bobby Boom! and his two henchboys Booker and Biff Muldoon. Elliot's life is destined to be made miserable...Lucky for Elliot, a cousin from the big city is coming to live with them for a while. Soon enough the perfect town of Bunsel, which had been ruled by the Boolacheck family for generations would experience something never before encountered, an eleven year old, streetwise, super prankster, by the name of Jimmy 'the slick' Blue.
In Big Bobby Boom! and the Marble Mayhem! Author Gregg Seeley introduces us to a pair of unlikely heroes, Jimmmy and Elliot Blue.
"No way man! Not us! We're heroes!" Jimmy exclaimed sarcastically. "We stopped a bank robbery and rescued the town from another of those boring parades, the same one that this town has to watch over and over every year featuring the Boolachecks. They should be thanking us."

Big Bobby Boom! and the Marble Mayhem

Interesting Gregg. Is this YA? My daughter would definitely like something like this. I want to make sure there's nothing in it that might curl my toes should she discuss it.

(I read first anyway, but I'm sure everyone else would like to know too.)

Your book sounds like a lot of fun, Gregg. There's nothing like humour to get a serious message across. I'm sure school libraries would love to stock it. The cover is bright and catchy!

Renee wrote: "Interesting Gregg. Is this YA? My daughter would definitely like something like this. I want to make sure there's nothing in it that might curl my toes should she discuss it.

(I read first anyw..."
Shouldn't curl your toes Renee, the schools where I have read and visited, loved it! It's good old fashion innocent fun in a pre-teen world of bullies and good guys

I was reading the above comments and you mentioned about sending out self contained excerpts and chapter samples to literary magazines. That is a wonderful idea, would you be able to give some examples of these literary magazines? I am willing to start sending right away to get this book on the map of schools libraries and book clubs all over the continent.

This little gem of a thread is actually Erma's idea, but I agree it's great. I love the idea of sending blurbs to magazines too.

Gregg: 2009 Writer's Market put out by Writer's Digest Books has a thorough listing (i believe they have a junior lit. section too), and in Canada the Canadian Writer's Market is the book to have. Most libraries also carry them and it's easier to troll through in hard copy.

But normally excerpts get published prior to book publication. So, if you have something else in the works... Happy to see you're getting great response from the schools!

M.J. wrote: "And here's a blurb for my upcoming historical called A Soldier's Vow
****************************************************
A Soldier's Vow- Historical romance set in World War One

Winnie Dougla..."
Captivating story line(s). I love stories from the first and second world wars, and it's interesting to see the heroine(s) as active participants. Curious, why the 2 World Wars and are the characters based on real people?

Thank you for the suggestion of where to look. I have that book and I am going to seek out what I need from it, for the upcoming sequel

© Karen Vaughan 2008


Prologue Present Day 2008


The glass slammed down on the bar.
The barkeep filled the glass and passed it to the dude.
“Good show” the bartended said nodding to the comic on stage.
“He’s okay, I have seen much better” The stranger replied.
“You know comedy?”
“I was comedy; years ago. Then I started my own club, hosted the best up-and-comers. I guided Carey, and Myers, on their way up. I was the Simon Cowell of the comedy world. I discovered more new talent than Cowell can shake his finger at.”

“So what happened?”
“I lost it, son. I lost my faith in humor. Too many bad things happened to accept that laughter can pull you through the worst. Sometimes it can be a curse.”

The stranger looked up at the comic finishing his routine.
He turned back to the bartender. “That kid probably does have talent. He could be destined for Last Comic Standing. The problem is; I am just too jaded to see it.”

“So what actually made you lose your vision?”
The man took a sip of scotch, and said. “My wife died of cancer—a quick death. We didn’t see it coming. You'd think that would be enough for a guy to have to deal with...But then some asshole lost his sense of humor, and all hell broke loose.”




Summer 2003


Chapter 1
Back in the day

An up-and-coming comic was just exiting “Ronald’s Laff attak “. The comedian usually left through the alley after his sets; usually two per night, 30 minutes per set. Like other wannabes, he worked two clubs per week whilst working part time at an upscale Coffee Emporium. This guy didn’t want to spend the rest of his career as a part-time Baristo /Comic. Oh no, this dude had plans; he was going to be the Robin Williams for the next generation. Well, skip the Na-noo-Na-noo bullshit Robin had to tout in his early years.

In the meantime, bills had to be paid and the comic had a wife to support as well. Debbie worked as an insurance adjuster for a huge HMO management company. She technically supported him and his “hobby”. At least it was a marginally paying hobby. --God he hated having his passion described as a ‘hobby!’


The young man walked around the corner down another alley, a supposed short cut on his way home. He feared nothing. He would never have let Deb do this, day or night. Her argument was why should he? Did he think he was “Iron man” or something? The young dude lit up another smoke, a filthy habit and Deb hated it. Another reason she thought he might die young. She just didn’t get the part about a good smoke after coming off stage. Comics had to be the worst chronic smokers. He had to do it here because once he stepped into the house, no more ciggies. He might as well smoke now ‘cause Deb wouldn’t let him smoke after sex. Smoking brought him back from the adrenaline high of being ‘on.’ No matter what shit hit you through out your day; you hit the stage running with a smile, ready to show the crowd the time of their miserable lives. He stood in the shadows taking a few pulls on the Camel, dropped it and ground it into the asphalt with the other discarded cigarette butts. Debbie, as much as he loved her, had her phobias. She was convinced that some guy would jump out of the shadows and knife him to death, when, in reality, the worst killers came wrapped in cellophane and cardboard.

The next step he took into the alley was his last. A hand holding a butcher knife came out of nowhere. If this weren’t the end for real, he would have found a place in his act for the scenario. He felt the knife blade plunge into his stomach, and he went down on his knees, and then fell onto his back.

“Fuck man, if you want my wallet just ask.”
“It’s not about the money asshole. I just didn’t know how else to tell you……”
“What?”
The stranger grabbed the hilt of the knife, and yanked it out of his victims gut.
He looked straight at him and said.
“YOU JUST AIN’T FUNNY!”
Then the killer slit the young mans throat.

~~~~~~





The room was packed. People were lined up at the bar three deep, and all the tables were full.

Jeffrey Beals, the owner and operator of Comic f/x was looking forward to a good night. His headliner, Phil Vetters was a real crowd pleaser for sure. He was more concerned about Shelley, the new girl starting tonight. She auditioned well, and Jeff had no doubt that she had talent. Shelley clearly admitted that her club experience was limited and had more experience in an auditorium setting, doing comedy for educational purposes. This worried Jeff. Shelley was a small girl, and guys tended to eat people like that up, especially after a few stiff drinks. Great prey for hecklers and pervs.

Jeff tried to keep societies baser elements out of the club. However, some just seemed to slip through the cracks. They walk in acting civilized but once a female comic hit the stage, all vestiges of humanity escaped through their assholes.

Comic F/X was full of the upwardly-mobile out for a few laughs. The club was a brightly lit establishment. No smoking was allowed and a three drink minimum rule applied. The basic premise was to serve up good drinks and provide quality entertainment. Jeff wanted people to come back time after time to see the rising stars of tomorrow. He hoped Shell was one of them. Jeff had heard she came from a tough neighbourhood, a white girl surrounded by Hispanics and African-Americans. It was everyone for themselves there and one had to develop a thick skin and a strong backbone.

Shell was doing her initial sound check on stage.

“Hear the one about…..”
“Never mind the jokes sweetie, just show us yer titties.”
“Hey guy what’s your name?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Well pal, I just don’t open my shirt for just anyone. I like to be on a first name basis with my voyeurs, if ya know what I mean?”
“If I tell ya will ya take it off?”
“I don’t know, be the looks of you, you seem to have a bigger rack than I do.”
“You Little Bitch!”
“Whoa, you better put on your Big boy pants to use language like than, you wanna take your potty mouth and go to the washroom?”

Jeff was watching the impromptu exchange, and decided that Shelley could handle herself. Gord-o was a dog, but Shelley was having an easy time having him neutered. If Gord-o got out of hand Jeff would have him thrown out on his ass.

“Very funny girlie—God gave you a sense of humor –‘cause you just can’t please the boys. Gord-o can teach you what you need to know.”
“Well Gord-o what you can teach me wont take more than two minutes.”
“Au Contraire, sweetie I could have you yelling Gord-Oh by morning.”
“No doubt loser, it would take you that long to get it up! Is that when the chloroform and rufies wear off?


The audience was enjoying the impromptu exchange between Shelley and Gord. There was a lot of laughing and clapping. Gord-o was starting to look the fool. Something he hated, especially at the hands of a chick.

“You freakin’ cow! No one makes me look like an ass, and gets away with it!”
“Gordie, my dear, you don’t need my help to look like an ass. You’re doing a good enough job on your own.”

Jeff didn’t need to see any more and signaled the bouncers to extricate Gord from the club.

Shelley came of the stage, and headed for the bar. She signaled Dave to send her water with lemon.
Jeff approached her.

“Great warm up. You made short work of him. I have seen lesser men crumble under him onstage and then get the crap beat out of them for being a pussy.”
“What did he do, sit on their ass?” She retorted. “Thanks for the props, but if ya knew what a shit he is, why did you let him go at me?”
“Sorry I know it was a shitty thing to do, but I had to be sure you could handle heckling. You passed. I had him removed anyway. I want you fresh and relaxed for your set.”
Shelley nodded her thanks, and admitted he was getting to be a bit much.
“I have four brothers with a brain between them, I can handle it.”
“So I saw, damn fine job.”

Jeff and Shelley took a seat at the side. She went on in thirty minutes. Jeff explained that he did well to have a civilized crowd most of the time. Gord was an exception to that rule some days. Shelley had given back more than Gord could handle, and Jeff feared he wouldn’t take kindly to being singled out, and might retaliate. There were the bouncers, and he had a zero tolerance for harassment of his talent pool.

“If you’re worried about the ape trying to get handy with me, don’t. I have a black belt in Tae Kwon Do and a can of mace. I can out run the gorilla, and my 4x4 SUV is one scary little mother. I wanted to thank you for the break here; I appreciate the chance at the club scene.”

“You have great chops. You’ll be great. Stick around and watch Phil after your set, he’s a real hoot.”
“Sure but right now I better get onstage before you fire my sorry ass.”

With that she went back stage to wait for Jeff to open the show and properly announce her.

Hey great to be here. My name is Shelley. A little bit about me. I am the youngest and only girl in my family. My four brothers have a lot in common; they share one brain between them….. Actually only three of them are idiots. Dumb, Dumber, and Dumber still. The fourth was born with a penis and a brain. Naturally my mother was shocked.

Many people call me a butch. At first I thought it was because they meant to say bitch but just couldn’t spell. Then I realized they were calling me a Lesbo.
I love animals; I guess I would have to being raised with the four primates. Dinner in our house resembled feeding time at the monkey house. I know I know…it’s not nice to compare the boys to a bunch of chimps. The chimps have a bigger shot at getting a college degree than these animals. The older three attend clown school and are starting at The Shrine circus when they graduate. The one with the penis and the brain has a masters in Psychology. Staying true to his ape heritage, he throws a lot of shit around.

I have never been married but I lived with a guy for 6 months. The only reason that the individual in question is still alive is credited to the fact that I look horrible in orange and I didn’t want to be the prison bitch of some chick named Hildegard. Honestly the names some people give their kids, they’re just asking for trouble. Imagine burdening your offspring with the name of Hildegard, she’s bound to either sing Wagner while holding a spear or commit crimes—“Come to mommy Hildegard ---sure she ambles straight into your arms and thwack—you never saw it coming. Just think of her plea of guilty based on getting a shitty moniker at birth.
Norbert is another name that should be avoided at all costs. You’re going to have a child with a shit load of psychiatric issues based on childhood bullying. So right after my mom read a book about what your kids’ names mean, she stopped calling Bobby, Bonzo.
Well it’s been great. I’ll be here until Sunday or whenever Jeff hands me a pink slip which ever comes first.

The audience ate the act up and were standing and whooping for more as she left the stage...
Shelley bowed and went back stage to grab her purse so she could leave right after Phil’s set. She felt good after her fifteen minutes of fame. She was no long a Comedy club virgin. She had lots of material to use and hoped Jeff would give her a bigger set down the road.

Gregg wrote: "Thank you for the suggestion of where to look. I have that book and I am going to seek out what I need from it, for the upcoming sequel"

Good luck!

Thanks for the opportunity to post a blurb. This one is from my Alex Bellamy mystery (the 2nd in the series), Fatal Encryption:

Dressed as Kermit the Frog on Halloween night, an unemployed Alex Bellamy wonders where his life went wrong. It could be worse. A few miles away, Zachary Ternoway is stabbed at his front door. In need of cash, Alex agrees to help catch a computer prankster at McKinleys' Department Store.

But things turn serious when someone vows to permanently encrypt the store's data and torch the building unless ten million dollars is handed over in two weeks. Alex knows there's a connection between the murder and the extortion threat, yet time's running out. People are questioning his competency, and a killer's threatening his life.

Fatal Encryption

I write horse mysteries for middle readers. This excerpt is from my 6th book, Snowfall - Summer Cabin

What would do this? The answer came to him in an adrenalin rush. What would sample all the food, bash all the containers and leave all the comfortable “people” stuff. Mickey’s heart began to race as he pushed Torque into the cold clear water to have a closer look. Every food container had been opened. Oatmeal swirled in tiny pools, cheese wrappers littered the shore. Cans of Campbell’s soup, dented and smashed, rested on the green mossy bottom of the creek.
Raccoon, wolverine, bear. The possibilities raced through his head. Torque lowered his nose to the remains of Patience’s pack, inhaling with a long slow snorting sound as he tried to figure out the creature’s smell. Mickey spun the big horse around 360 degrees to get a quick look around the gorge.
A raccoon would not have flattened the soup cans.
The mountain water, clear like liquid silver splashed around Torque’s fetlocks. “I’m so sorry buddy, that must be freezing your legs off.” Mickey looked at the cans sadly, “Shoot,” he said aloud, the prospect of getting his boots wet just to save a few tins of soup seemed dismal. They were there exhausted and exposed for any predator to see, in the bottom of the gorge, and caught without the rifle. “Sorry fella,” Mickey said aloud, patting Torque on the shoulder, as much to calm himself as anything, “I guess you and I have been living in Connecticut too long if I can’t remember how not to get us killed out here.” He looked sadly down at the frigid water below. If there was any hope of eating anything tonight, someone still had to rescue the soup.

Karen, Debra, Krista -- Great writing and all so different! Everyone, feel free to comment on each other's work. Keep them coming!

Thank, Erma. I love the difference in styles. It what makes mysteries so much fun to read.

A. F. wrote: "[image error]
Passing Fancies
Here's a micro-fiction story from Passing Fancies:
Dark, New World
The world transformed today.
The sun went red, the sky opened a..."

yes very chilling

Debra wrote: "Thanks for the opportunity to post a blurb. This one is from my Alex Bellamy mystery (the 2nd in the series), Fatal Encryption:

Dressed as Kermit the Frog on Halloween night, an unemployed Alex ..."

have to look that up

Thanks! I like to incorporate a little humor and romance in my novels. I want to entertain people, not depress them.

Debra

Debra wrote: "Thanks! I like to incorporate a little humor and romance in my novels. I want to entertain people, not depress them.

Debra
"

thats how i feel

I agree, I think even depressing novels with heavy themes could always use a little humour, even if dark. To achieve this requires a little bit more attetion on the author's behalf, in my mind. Michele Tremblay is really good at that.

You're right, Erma. Knowing how much humor to put a mystery and when, and to make the humor fit within the context of the story takes a bit of thinking and, in my case, rewriting.

Interesting blurb, Debra. For Alex, whose life has gone wrong, to dress up as Kermit the Frog on Halloween night, is only setting the stage up for humour's darker side.

Exactly right, Erma. The story does get more serious, but that particular Halloween incident and the humiliation that goes with wearing that costume, does come back to haunt Alex. So the humor in a way, becomes another loose end tied up.

There is a terrific new review of my picture book Maritime Monsters at CM book reviews.

http://www.umanitoba.ca/cm/vol16/no20...

The sounds of seashells have always been such a source of fascination - a very beautiful and magical blurb, Steve. The detail of the illustrations is wonderful. Scary and funny both at the same time. Thanks for sharing!

Thank you kindly, Erma.

Here's a blurb from my WIP currently titled 'Forgive and Forget, But Always Remember Their Names'. (I like long quirky titles, it may change) I'm rewriting right now, so there are some rough bits. Just wanted to share and see what everyone thinks of this particular scene. WARNING: Some 'strong' language, which is code for their is some swearing, particularly f-bombs.


The sign indicating Louisa Street, Willam’s street, was at the end of the road. He pressed the gas, eager to confront the piece of shit that the legal system couldn’t take care of. How many rapes, assaults and crimes against women did one have to commit before the law tossed them away forever? Pedophiles and rapists got less time than a thief or a drug dealer. Wade didn’t understand it and he doubted he ever would. To him it seemed they were far more interested in the minor crime of selling someone a fix, a fix they wanted and often begged for, than a man who shattered people’s lives. Well, William wouldn’t have to worry about the law anymore; he’d picked his last victim, the wrong victim.

Searching the house numbers Wade’s pulse quickened when he saw the one he wanted. He continued driving a few feet until he reached the end of the dead end street. Turning off the truck lights, he left the key in the ignition, the motor idling. Whistling to himself he opened the glove compartment once more and reached inside. His hand found the gun easily, and he set it on the seat, reaching in once more for the long cylinder that would silence the shot. He stared out the windshield as he prepared.

The end of Louisa Street butted against the old Steel Works where it met with George Street. Tweed Steel had been closed now for nearly fifteen years, although they used the building for something, Wade didn’t know what. Beyond the low rambling building and opposite Louisa, was Stoco Lake, its rippling waves like black silk under the light of the full moon.

He considered finishing the job there but quickly tossed that idea aside, William would be found too quickly in the small lake, he didn’t want him found for a while. Finished with his preparation, Wade opened the door and jumped down, his feet making a slurping sound in the muddy ground. Damn rain. He remembered his gloves and pulled the visor down, removing them from the little band that held them in place and he slipped them on. The soft leather slid over his hands, caressing his skin, a feeling he always savored for a moment.

Still whistling, he walked toward the tiny duplex near the dead end. Set back from the road, surrounded by tall maple trees, the steel works on one side, an abandoned house on the other, William lived in the perfect house to remain anonymous, undiscovered, and vulnerable. Wade walked up the broken and crumbling walkway, stepping off just before he reached the door and walking around to the back of the house. The grey siding had cracked in spots, fallen off altogether in others, and black shingles lifted and curled away from the roof. Wade was willing to bet that it rained inside as well as out.

He noted the light in the front window as he passed. William, if he paid attention, would know someone was outside. Wade wasn’t trying to hide though, not from William.

He blended into the shadows of the backyard, his feet sinking into the deep mud. He’d have to get rid of his boots, Lori would question the mud and he didn’t need to give her anymore ammunition to use against him. He stepped up to the screen door which hung precariously by two rusted hinges. Even in the dark, Wade could see that one good tug would pull it off. He rapped on the cracked glass and waited, watching as a shadow passed the door, then nothing.

He knocked once more, and the shadow grew, moving closer. “Who is it?”

“Pizza. Get the fuck out here and get it.”

William pushed the door open and Wade backed away. He scratched his head and Wade imagined lice fleeing from the greasy brown mop. “You’re joking. Seriously? You think you’re gonna come here to my house and try to scare me?”

“No, I’m not trying to scare you.”

“What then? You gonna warn me to stay away from the slut? Fuck off. You made your point.”

William turned around and reached for the door. Wade raised the gun and released the safety, the metallic click echoing in the silence of the night. Rain fell, running over his face and down his shirt, which had soaked through long ago. He watched as William stopped and turned slowly, his arms rising above his head.

“You don’t want to do this. Fuck, I didn’t do anything to her. You’ll get life you know, no matter what I did. They’ll find you.”

William backed away, circling until he stood against the large tree that loomed over the house. Wade followed him with the gun and smiled.

“They haven’t found me yet,” Wade squeezed the trigger, and watched William’s body slam against the old Maple.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is; Fuck you, William.”

Very cool, Renee. I certainly want to read more.

I'll need beta readers in a few weeks, I'll let you all know when it's ready.

Pretty intense, Renee. You're helping make Tweed the crime capital of Ontario. Chilling thought.