The Opening to Blind Faith

He hunched his shoulders and picked up his pace. The man had followed this path home through this tiny park hundreds of times. He knew it better than he knew his own hand. So why on this night was his pulse racing? His hands sweating?

The word nerves came to mind, and he cursed himself for giving way to them.

He shook his head. Stephanie had threatened him. Had told him she would never forgive him. He had never seen such anger, but what could she actually do? She had no power, no contacts.

He tightened his coat collar and cast his gaze over the glistening snow. It was a frigid night. A night better spent driving home instead of wandering home through a deserted park.

He sighed and lifted his head. Dumping Stephanie had sounded so simple. It was the perfect solution, probably the only solution really. How could he know she would take his decision so hard? He had never promised her forever. Still, he could hardly believe the trauma his decision had cost him.

He stepped past a string of pine trees. A punishing north wind pushed him sideways. He danced through a couple of quick steps, arms flailing, to avoid plunging to the frigid ground.

Recovering, he swore softly and shoved his coat sleeve back, and glanced at his watch. Late now. The street lights were on. But it was the puddle of blackness between lights that made him shiver.

He needed to think. Needed to come up with an excuse for missing dinner.

He paused, cast a glance backwards. Had he heard something? He squinted., peered around bushes.  Shook his head. “Nothing there,” he reassured himself.

He set out again, his thoughts shifting now to Angela. Beautiful, faithful, boring Angela. The perfect wife. The woman who would one day morph into an exceptional mother.

He inwardly cringed. What had he been thinking? He was lucky to have her.

Had it been old habits or the siren song of a first love that had driven him back into Stephanie’s arms? That woman was like a fine wine. Difficult to put down. But so what? He needed to stay focused on what he wanted. A respectable life. An organized home. A family.

He rounded a corner. A figure stepped in front of him, blocking his way.  She held a knife in front of her. Lamplight glinted off the hard steel of the blade just before it found his beating heart.

“Angela,” he cried as his breath failed him, but his prayer was lost to the roar of the wind.

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I Am a Snail

My current WIP is moving ahead so–s l o w l y. Partly, that’s because it’s summer, a season when my protestant work ethics abandons me in favor of taking naps and guzzling numerous glasses of ice tea.

But the main reason for my lack of impressive progress is that I’m working on my first romantic suspense novel.

While I love to write suspenseful scenes, writing romance, at least to the level where I can slap the word romance on its cover, is a terrifying experience.

Please understand, all of my books, have a light romantic thread, as humans do what they are prone to do and fall in love, even when there’s a murder lingering around the edges of their lives. Those are side stories to the murder which always takes center stage. But if I’m going to slap the word romance on this wip, I need to nudge my romantic elements up a notch–or more.

I’m trying. Part of the effort has included reading deeply in the genre. That’s helping some, but I’ve been a mystery reader nearly all my life so the shift isn’t all that easy for me.

I’ve enjoyed the books, though, so I hope that’s a plus. Anyway, should you want to check out my final efforts, keep an eye posted here. I’ll announce when the book’s done and post a sample.

In the meantime, here’s the story’s cover:BLIND FAITH final (2)

 

 

 

On Naked Writing: an Update

 

blind-faith“So how’s it going,” you ask.

“Ah…. some wins, some losses,” I reply.

I’m speaking, of course of my first efforts at live writing. At putting each chapter up at Wattpad as it falls from my fingers. As far as how it is going,.. well, I’m posting more revisions than not.

I’m not all that surprised. It’s my usual modus operandi. I’ve never been a “first done, most won,” kind of writer. Which was my fear to begin with on this effort.

One section so far, the prologue, I have managed not to rewrite.

So here, in honor of my one suspected perfectly fetching scene, I share it.

(And if you want to disagree with me, that’s fine. Post your comments below.)

~~~~~~~~~

“He’d followed this path home hundreds of times. He knew it better than he knew his own hand. So why on this night was his pulse racing? His hands sweating? He hunched his shoulders and picked up his pace.

Nerves. He shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets and cast his gaze over the glistening snow, He sighed and watched his breath freeze into an white cloud before before him.

Nuts, dumping Tyler had had been so difficult. How could he know she’d take it so hard?

He relived her fury as though she were standing here beside him. “How dare you,” she’d screamed as the tumbler tore past his ear. Her face red. A vein in her throat throbbing. “You don’t get to do this to me a second time. I won’t have it.”

He stepped past a string of pine trees. A punishing north wind slammed into him, Pushed him sideways He took a couple quick, dancer-like steps, arms flailing to avoid plunging into the frigid snow. He recovered, swore softly, pulled his coat collar tighter Sighing, he glanced down at his watch.

Late now. The street lights were on. But it was the pockets of blackness between lights that made the man shiver.

He needed to think. Needed to come up with an excuse for missing dinner.

He paused, cast a glance backwards. Had he heard something? Squinted. Shook his head. “Nothing there,” he muttered.

He set out again, his thoughts shifting to Angela. Faithful, beautiful, boring Angela. The perfect wife, who would one day morph into an exceptional mother. What had he been thinking? He was lucky to have her,

Had it been old habits or the siren song of a first love that had driven him back into Tyler’s arms? The woman was like a fine wine. Difficult for him to put down. But so what? He needed to stay focused on what he wanted. A respectable life. A nice home. A family.

Well, the affair was over, he thought with a grunt. He’d finished it this afternoon. He’d never slip up again.

He rounded a corner. A figure stepped out before him. He saw the glint of the knife just before it plowed through his thick coat and pierced his soft flesh.

“Angela,” he called out, but his cry was lost on the wind.”

~~~~~~~~~

If you want to follow along as I post additional chapters at Wattpad, here’s the link. WATTPAD

And don’t forget my other published stories. Links to those cozie mysteries can be found on my other pages here.

Thanks for reading.

Anna Drake