Next Scene, and now let's talk about the word "nice"
You guys were great with the synonyms for "predictable." Today, let's try a new vocabulary word...nice.
You see, in most of my stories, you're going to have to read about gut-wrenching emotion. The lead characters, and often their friends and family, have to work for that predictable happy ending you know I'll give you before you're done. My books have been described as gritty and heart-felt. Troubling, sometimes, because the issues I choose to deal with hit so close to home for a lot a readers. Inspiring and hopeful, yes. Dry wit, sarcasm, even laugh out loud funny scenes, or lovely emotional images that make you smile. But nice?
This reviewer has twice now used that word to describe the back cover blurbs of my stories. Back cover copy, by the way, is our editorial team's attempt to summarize the category hooks in our books, so the die-hard Harlequin reader will give my story a chance when she's browsing the bookstore shelves. Back covers are not places to go for a mini-synopsis. Most of the amazing reviewers I've run across in this busienss are aware of this marketing trueism...my friend at RT, I'm not so sure... But I'm trying to be fair. I'd like to give her the benefit of the doubt...
So, by nice, I'm wondering if she means...isn't it amazing how the writer can touch such deep emotion and still make you want to keep turning the pages, tears and all!
What do you think? Come on, time to help the reviewer again. You guys are so good at it. You make me proud ;O)
Yesterday's winner from the comment section (wish I could give you all something for being so supportive...come back for the Launch Party in July, and we'll see what we can do about that)--Kimw...pick a book from the followinig list, or let me me know if I can tempt you with The Prodigal's Return (I'm assured that my author copies are on their way):
Darker Than Midnight--Maggie Shayne
On Blue Falls Pond--Susan Crandall
Chill of Fear (Hard Cover!!!)--Kay Hooper
Email me your choice and snail mail address. I'm doing a mailing today for the last few winners, so keep an eye out for a package from me later this week or early next week.
On to another excerpt...Neal was an amazing character to write...
***
Midtown Atlanta, Georgia. Eight Years Later
"Your daddy wouldn't call you himself, Neal, but somethin's not right." Buford Richmond's slow southern drawl blended into the phone's staticy connection like a bad omen. "I'd bet money the man's sick."
Since Buford had laid down good money on the Birmingham races every Saturday of the last twenty years, the man not betting might have been more cause for concern. Still, Neal gave up pretending to work.
Your daddy wouldn't call you himself...
That was the Gods-honest truth.
There'd been no contact between him and his father for ages. Not since their last fight a year into his eight-year sentence. He'd refused, again, to file for early parole, still naively determined to do right by Bobby. As if pissing away what he could do with his life would bring his friend back, or give the boy's family a speck of peace. Exactly his father's point. But Neal hadn't been ready to hear reason then, and his father had shouted that he wouldn't be back.
Not for the next month's visitation. Not ever. If Neal wanted to give up, if he thought rotting in prison would somehow make up for Bobby's death, that didn't mean his father had to watch.
You're a selfish sonovabitch, Nathan had railed. Thinking of the man as Dad hadn't been possible after that day. You don't know how to do anything but quit, And you don't care who you're hurting by giving up. Well, I've hurt enough. I can't do this anymore.
And neither could Neal.
Nathan giving up had been the right thing for both of them. A fitting end, leaving all ties neatly severed.
So why had Neal's heart slammed into his throat at the suggestion that the man might be sick?
He shoved aside the papers on his desk. Shoved back at the memories. Focus on the here and now--that's what he'd promised himself after that final argument. Let go of Nathan. Let go of Bobby. Let go of the past.
Survive.
Never look back.
That's what had gotten him through the remainder of his sentence. Nothing much had changed three years after his early release--parole garnered by model behavior, instead of his father's legendary briefs. Briefs Neal studied religiously now, to learn everything he could.
He wasn't a lawyer like his father. He never would be. But kicking legal ass consumed his time all the same, the way studying law books had those endless days and nights in his cell. Giving back, making up, it was a decent enough life. It made forgetting possible. At least it had until Buford's call.
His father's ex-law partner, Neal's only remaining contact to Rivermist, touched base from time to time to discuss financial matters. Rarely by phone. A registered letter from prison was all it had taken to give Buford temporary power of attorney over Neal's mother's sizable trust, set up for Neal after her death when he'd been only five. Ever since, they'd had an understanding. If Neal wanted to talk about his father, he'd ask. And he never had.
"My father's a very wealthy man." Neal rocked back in his second-hand desk chair, in the second-hand office that was more a home than the tiny apartment he rented. Rubbed at the tension throbbing at the base of his neck. It was late in the afternoon. He'd cast off his suit coat and rolled up the starched sleeves of his dress shirt hours ago. And long, solitary night of work stretched ahead--exactly the way he liked it. "If Nathan's sick, he'll find himself a doctor and get it taken care of."
"How much do you know about you daddy's situation?"
"I know he's alive. That he wants me out of his way. He has the means to take care of himself. There's no reason for me to be involved."
"I'm not sure Nathan wants to take care of himself, hang all that money he has in the bank." Buford, a litigator skilled at finessing juries into believing whatever version of the truth he represented, sounded a bit like a man feeling his way barefoot through shattered glass. "I wouldn't have called you if I thought we was doing okay, or that he'd listen to anyone else."
"Have you even talked with him since he dissolved your law partnership?"
"I tried." Buford chuckled. "The bastard actually challenged me to a fist fight the one time I stopped by the house."
One of Buford's first correspondence to Neal had explained the break up of his and Nathan's friendship, as well as their law practice. He'd asked if it made a difference in Neal's feelings about Buford handling his money. Since Neal had stopped feeling anything by then, he'd assured Buford it hadn't mattered a bit.
The more distance, the better.
"So why involve yourself in his life now?" he demanded, needing every bit of that distance back.
"Nathan's and my history isn't the point, son. When your daddy lost you, he did some terrible things out of grief. I forgave him for that years ago. That man introduced me to my wife. He's godfather to my two girls. When I was sitting by my mother's bedside watching her die, Nathan was the one sitting with me, praying with me, cursing with me. He helped me accept what had to be. There's nothing I wouldn't do for him, even if he is too stubborn to ask for help. He's lived alone all this time, and I was happy to leave him be. But that don't mean I think he's been taking very good care of himself. And now--"
"Buford, I..." Damn it, looking the other way hadn't hurt this much in years. Nothing had. "...I can't get involved."
His chance to make amends with Nathan...with anyone else...was long gone. Cutting the people who loved him out of his life had been a conscious choice. The horror of prison was unbearable with his mind still stuck on what he'd lost. Quitting, giving up, had been too appealing. And once he'd gotten out, inflicting himself on the people he'd left behind, people who'd moved on years before, would have been cruel.
Some mistakes couldn't be fixed. Especially the ones designed to stay permanently broken. Opening a door to the past now, just a crack, meant everything unraveling. Every rotting memory he'd buried, worming its way back to the surface.
And for what?
"I know you're busy." Buford's tone inched perilously close to wheedling. "And the work you're doing there is important. But, if you could just see how bad the man looks, what little Nathan comes to town anymore--"
"I can't." An image of his father's devastated expression as he'd walked away that last time escaped the pit Neal had banished it to. Fast on its heels came the echo of Jennifer Gardner's sobbing on the witness stand, the heartbreaking picture she'd made as she'd listened to him finish destroying what they might have had together.
Jennifer.
He no longer felt anything for her most of all.
"There's nothing I can say to change your mind?" the lawyer asked.
"You knew the answer to that before you called." Neal squeezed his eyes shut.
"Yeah. Guess I did." The pause that followed conjured a picture of Buford kicking back in his own beaten up chair. "Don't hold it against an old man for trying. Can't help it if I think it would do both you and your daddy some good if you made your peace before it's too late."
...before it's too late.
Warning bells stopped tickling and began clamoring at the back of Neal's mind. He was being played by a crafty attorney, but it didn't seem to matter.
"I'd better let you get back to it." The master manipulator sighed. "I hear you're busting judicial balls in Atlanta. If your daddy only knew what you've been up to with your mamma's money, he'd bust a gut--"
"Buford," Neal said through clenched teeth, biting down hard on a curse. He never cursed. He never lost his cool. To the world he now ruled, he was buttoned down, spiffed-up professionalism at its best. With just enough of the hardness he hid deep edging through, to keep people conveniently off balance at work, and happy to leave him to his privacy everywhere else.
"Yeah?" The lawyer's faceless reply was hope at it's gotcha best.
Neal stared at the folders sprawled across his desk. Paperwork representing the lives of people he barely knew who'd turned to him for help because they'd exhausted all other possibilities. He was their last hope. Atlanta's prince of saving lost causes. All of them but his own.
Damn it!
"Give me the name of my father's doctor," he heard himself say.
"Doc Harden's the only one your daddy would ever go to." A sly smile warmed each southern-tinged word. "But even if Doc knows something, I'm not sure he'd talk it over with you. He certainly wouldn't with me, the closed-mouth bastard. Whatever's going on, someone's pretty much going to have to bust your daddy's door down to get to the bottom of it."
"I'll make a few calls, that's it," Neal said. The phone slamming into it's cradle cut off Buford's next sentence.
Just a few calls, that was all. One to the doctor, one to his father. Simple enough, and he'd be done. Except contacting his old man would result in the kind of backlash no one wanted, him least of all.
He'd had his reasons for shutting down. Shutting the world out. Damn good ones. And his old man had baled, too. If Nathan was lonely now, it was by choice, same as Neal. Besides, who said being alone was the abomination Buford made it out to be? Alone suited Neal just fine.
The arguments were solid. Logical. Best for everyone.
So why did he suddenly feel like a class-A bastard for allowing the silence between him and his old man to drag on for seven years?
Whatever it takes, that had been his rep in prison. He'd been a vulnerable kid who hadn't a clue what he'd set himself up for. A pretty boy, and everything his father had feared would happen had come at him like a demented welcome wagon as soon as he'd been placed in general population. He'd learned fast to do and say and fight however he'd had to, until the filthy predators with filthy hands, and the memories screaming how much he had to lose, finally let him be.
In a matter of months, the pretty boy had died and the man he was never meant to be had taken the kid's place.
A man rumored to have no emotions, no fear. Only here he was, turning chicken-shit at the thought of making a couple of phone calls to check on the father he supposedly hadn't cared about for years.
13 Comments:
At 12:04 PM, tastefully yours said…
Anna,
Another great excerpt. As for the reviewer, I would say by nice the reviewer means that the book is very pleasant and attractive. A book you can not put down until its complete. I, myself can't wait to read it!
At 7:39 PM, Jennifer Y. said…
Congrats Kimw!
Great excerpt Anna!
At 11:34 PM, Angie-la said…
I am really enjoying the excerpts!
:-P
You know, I think nice really means niiiice, you know like sweeeeet and awesome and coool. Stuff like that!
At 11:39 PM, Jeanette J said…
hopefully she means 'nice' in a nice way....great excerpts by the way
At 3:41 AM, Minna said…
Congrats Kimw! I love the excerpt!
At 5:30 AM, Maureen said…
I think instead of nice the viewer meant an emotionally charged story with real people overcoming difficult but believable situations.
At 8:41 AM, CrystalGB said…
Great excerpt Anna. I am really looking forward to reading the book.
At 11:20 AM, Carol M said…
Another great excerpt. I can't wait to read more!
Congrats, Kim!
At 11:33 AM, catslady said…
I'm thinking she didn't read it and she doesn't have a very varied vocabulary! I don't particularly want to read "nice" lol.
I'm looking forward to more excerpts.
At 11:41 AM, Unknown said…
I could not see calling your writing nice, when you write with such passion. The word nice gives me the impression of worst case - boring, and best case - pleasant. Your books are never boring, and pleasant does not do them justice. The characters you create are so real, the emotions so visceral. No, nice does not describe it.
Hugs, Zara
At 12:37 PM, Unknown said…
I forgot to say congrats to KimW. Congrats Kim!
Hugs, Zara
At 3:55 PM, Anna Destefano said…
Thanks for all the "nice" ideas, ladies ;O) Sherry, while I'm packaging up all the lovely goodies from this week's blog winners, I see you on my list from Brenda Novak's auction!! Auction packages are going out early next week!!
And thanks, everyone, for putting up with blogspot the alst couple of days. I don't know what's wrong with their servers, but the site seems to have been down more than it's been up lately. Sigh...at least it's still spam-free!!
Look for another scene tomorrow...I'd really like to give you guys two more...maybe I'll have to do one next week, too.
And next week, look for early picks of my July launch party goodies, plus the latest news on where I'll be blogging and so forth throughout the month.
See you tomorrow!!
At 10:22 AM, Anna Destefano said…
Tam, just read your question. The Prodigal's Return is a stand alone story.
I'm trying to alternate between stand alone books and whatever current series I'm writing.
My next "Daughter" book, The Perfect daugther, will be out next Valentines Day.
Post a Comment
<< Home