Sunday, June 23, 2013

Chapter 1 of The Adored One is now up!

I've finally put the a new chapter of TAO up. Sorry it's taken a while. I hope you like it.

Sunday, June 9, 2013

Working on The Adored One

The next installment of the new story is coming along well. I hoped you liked the Prologue. Timeline's still not definite for posting Chapter 1, since this is the last week of school for both kids, and it's going to be busy!! Pride Day is also coming up this weekend and I can't wait for it. The weather forecast is great, so it should be an awesome time.

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

New story sneak peek!

Here's the first look at the my new story. Let me know what you think!




Early this morning, on Rt. 16 near Wakefield, a car driven by Mark Habowitz spun out of control and struck an oncoming motorcycle. Habowitz, 19, is in critical condition. The other driver, Trace Worthy, 46, of Portsmouth, was pronounced dead at the scene. State police confirmed this afternoon that Habowitz was legally intoxicated at the time of the accident, and speed was also a factor…


I put down the paper and leaned back in the chair. Looking at the two men sitting across the table, I asked, "Is this some sick joke?"

The taller of the men took the paper from the table and folded it under his arm. His bright blond hair glowed garishly in the overhead light and made his pale skin look nearly white. Narrowing his silver eyes, he said, "This is not a joke."

"Bullshit!" I yelled.

"Please don't use vulgar language in here," the other man said. His looks were as opposite to his crony as possible. Dark hair, skin and eyes lent him a sinister appearance, but for some reason I was more at ease when I focused on him.

His gentle scolding had a strong effect on me. I cleared my throat and said, "I apologize, but this is insane. Why have you brought me in here to fool with my head like this?"

The black-haired man leaned over the table and said, "We're not fooling with your head, Trace."

"But this says I'm dead! And it's dated yesterday!"

"Yes. You died yester—"

"Who are you?" I demanded.

"Michael," the blond replied.

"Philip," his cohort said. "We're angels."

"Ha! Of course. God, please make me wake up from this nightmare!"

"God has other plans for you," Philip said with a wide smile.

My heart skipped. It took a moment for my mouth to obey my mind. "P-pardon?" I stuttered.

Michael stood up and explained. "You died before your time, Trace. It was an accident."

"God doesn't make mistakes," I shot back with a sneer.

"Exactly," Philip said. "He planned this so that he might give you a wonderful opportunity. A quest of sorts."

I stood up and paced around the room. "Wait a minute! You're telling me that a teenager got drunk and plowed into my bike just so the almighty can give me a job? I liked the job I had, thank you very much! I slaved my ass—"

"Language, please," Philip reminded me.

I scowled and continued, "I slaved my backside off to earn that job and now you're telling me that all of that work was for nothing?"

"Of course it wasn't for nothing!" Michael said sharply. "Your life has touched hundreds of people in ways you'll never know."

"Exactly. I'll never know 'cause I'm dead." I ran out of energy and fell down into my chair. When I bounced on a soft cushion, I gasped. My hard, wooden office chair had become a plush sofa.

Philip motioned for me to lay down. "Relax," he said calmly. I rolled my eyes but did as he asked. I stretched out on the soft fabric and looked at the dark angel. He took my hand and said, "You are truly special, Trace. God doesn't grant everyone this chance at becoming one of The Adored."

"I thought God adores everyone," I said.

Michael chuckled and said, "You're right. He loves everyone, but there are a group of his flock which are referred to as The Adored Ones."

"You mean angels?" I asked incredulously. "God wants me to be an angel?"

"That is His plan, yes," Michael answered. "But you must first do what He asks of you."

I raised an eyebrow. "And what does He ask?"

Philip produced a folder out of thin air and removed a photo. He handed it to me and asked, "Do you know this child?"

It was a school portrait of a young man. The features were familiar: deep blue eyes a little too close together, mousy brown hair, slightly scarred complexion. Thin lips attempted to cover teeth held tight by braces, but failed and gave the youth a forlorn appearance. I went back to the eyes and thought for a moment before I said, "Oh, yeah! Max. This is Max Holton."

"Holbrook," Philip corrected. "That was his seventh grade yearbook photo."

"Wow. I haven't seen him since high school. I wonder what became of him."

Michael took the picture from me and said, "In three weeks' time, Max is going to commit suicide. It's your job to save him."

To be continued...

Sunday, June 2, 2013

New story...

I'm developing a new story, and will hopefully post the first chapter in the next few weeks. Unless, of course, I die from this heat. Time to break out the air conditioners!