Work In Progress –
Grey Daze is the third book in the Lance Underphal mystery series, another hardcore paranormal mystery. Constructing mystery books is a multi-step process, requiring the attention and care of several talented people.
As of this writing, I’m polishing the final draft, readying it for my first reader, my wife, Cynthia. Once I make the revisions from Cynthia’s comments, I’ll do at least one more run-through to prepare the manuscript for my editor, Linda Seed and my first “Alpha” readers.
Once Grey Daze is run several times through the editing and revision process, the final manuscript will be delivered to my publisher, Telemachus Press.
It’s all part of my job as a mystery writer – and what a joy it is to work with such creative professionals.
A Glimpse –
In this and upcoming blogs, I’ll post short excerpts to give you glimpses into this newest Lance Underphal murder mystery. As paranormal murder mystery stories go, this one is different—very different. Not just another whodunit, you’ll delve into the innermost workings of the characters’ private lives—what makes them tick, what terrifies them, what makes them cry, what makes them howl with rage.
The end of first chapter, entitled “Cashing In”
“Fury firing her blood, she’s pushes off the couch and tromps out of the room, the ancient crusted carpet crunching under her biker boots. Clomping through the short hall and into the back bedroom, she slows, then walks quietly as if she’d wake him. What am I doin’? She shakes her head. He’s not waking up any time soon, she made sure of that—fainting dead away when she tripled his cardio meds. It’s been nearly twenty-four hours. Blood levels should be back to near normal, well within limits for any toxicology report.
Her broad nose crinkles with disgust, her lips curling into a snarl at the mere sight of him. She’s always hated old men, and with good reason. Look at him, lying there under that ratty old bedspread, too cheap to buy a decent blanket. All that money rat-holed away, rotting like his ancient carcass. His limbs like sticks, tacked onto a distended belly. His eyes pinched shut at the bottom of deep hollows. His sunken mouth a ragged hole, white spittle crusting thin cracked lips. His head a weathered skull, wrapped in papery skin stretched tight, dotted with patches of wispy white hair. If it wasn’t for his phlegmy breaths, he could already pass for a corpse.
She crosses quickly to the bed, gritting her teeth, holding her breath. Jerking the stained pillow out from under his head, she flips it up into both hands, leans over and presses down hard, mashing it on his face. A slight tremor runs through his withered limbs. Cadaverous claws scrabble at her hands, her wrists, her arms. She gasps, horrified, turning her head, pressing down harder. A muffled wail seeps out from behind the pillow—inhuman. She moans as tears leak from her squinted eyes. She can’t take anymore. And just when she starts to lift, he goes limp, his heaving chest, still. What little life he had left rushes past her—a final huff of foul breath and he’s dead.”
Copyright © 2014 by Michael Allan Scott, all rights reserved.
And so one life ends and the story begins.
More to follow …
Of course, your comments are always welcome.
For more on Michael Allan Scott, the mystery writer and the Lance Underphal mystery series, go to michaelallanscott.com
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