I’m writing a fiction book
As I write the pages, I thought it might be helpful to see how interested my readers are in the story. So….this is the beginning of that process. I will update ideas and thoughts periodically so … talk to me… then I will know how much more you want to read!
Here is the beginning (yet to be edited – obviously)
The jagged scar stretched from the underside of her wrist to just below her armpit. Surgeons said the dog ripped too much tissue, and they did the best they could—but no way could they sew her up in one straight line. Fifty-seven staples later and stitches too many to count, Colbie’s arm resembled a craggy mountain range.
She traced the thick, smooth scar with her fingertip, recalling her dad’s words. You’ll have days made by the devil himself, Colbie, but you must be strong. Pull up your socks, stand tall, and get on with it, his Irish brogue ringing strong as if it were yesterday.
He was right. Recovery. Physical therapy. The pink slip. Of course, her CO said how sorry he was to cut her loose, to trade her in, but since she couldn’t manage a firearm to safety standards, she had a choice of life at a desk, or taking a new path. The thought of being shackled to a slab of metal was repugnant, so the latter seemed the better choice. Either way, it was ten years down the drain— her plan was to retire in her early fifties as a decorated officer with enough time left to enjoy life. The thrill of going to work each day rarely subsided, and six months ago Colbie considered herself lucky to enjoy her chosen profession. She delighted in debunking the myth that cops were only good for drinking coffee and eating donuts and, yes, there was stress, but not so much that she couldn’t handle and compartmentalize it—an attribute she found handy on those few dark days.
“Heading out?” Sergeant Rifkin jolted Colbie from unpleasant recollection, snapping her back to reality. His question was lame, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. It was a damned shame, and he was losing a good officer.
“Yeah—I guess it’s a good thing I don’t believe in keeping anything other than the essentials in my desk. One box ought to do it . . .”
“Good . . . that’s good.” “Do you want my plant?” “Thanks, but I kill everything I touch. Even cactus.” “Me, too. I’m surprised it’s still alive!”
“Okay—well, I’ll catch you later. Don’t be a stranger.” Colbie stood and shook his hand, thanking him for the last ten years and, with that, her career on the force came to an unceremonious close. Most officers were out on calls, and only a few shouted their good wishes as she closed the precinct’s back door, stepping into the reality of winter.