Usually the middle of a book is the hardest part to write.
Endings have so much momentum that they almost write themselves–maybe not well, but still… Beginnings are so fresh, so exciting. If we begin well, we are hopeful we’ll continue that way, too.
Right now I’m in the middle of my next book for Mira. And as disrupted as my writing time has been recently, I’m still moving right along when I have time to write. This week has been rainy, and I’ve had few reasons not to. And wow, how much fun it’s been.
So faced with the choice of writing another chapter early this week, or working on a blog? I’ll confess the answer was too easy. Chapter won, hands down. In the long run you’ll be happier I decided that way, too.
But wait. I do have something to share. Are you waiting for Night Magic to appear on your Kindle, Nook, or iPhone next week? Are you waiting for the paperback to appear at Amazon–it will this week, I promise.
By now you’ve probably read the excerpt on my website. The excerpt is the complete Chapter One. So today, as a bonus, here’s the very beginning of Chapter Two. Just for you to enjoy while I go back to a completely different, but for me, equally absorbing book. (Which, by the way, still has no title.)
NIGHT MAGIC by Emilie Richards
Skeeter stifled a smile when Daffy frowned. The apricot-tinted perfection of her complexion was only marred by the earnest wrinkles in her forehead. When the frown disappeared, the wrinkles would, too. She had beautiful skin, translucent skin he’d never be able to capture on canvas. And her hair. Titian had made his mark painting hair like hers. With Daffy standing in front of him, Skeeter had no trouble understanding why.
He pulled himself back to the subject at hand. “So that’s why you were there.”
“It was just a hunch. I don’t know what I expected to find. Certainly not you.”
He wondered if her skin was as soft as it looked. Maybe the urge to find out came from the artist inside him, the sculptor, but he knew better. “I’d say it was a lucky coincidence our paths crossed.”
“I’m not sure just how lucky it was for my client. I let myself get distracted. I never found out what could have been in that cloth bag.”
“It does sound like a gris-gris bag. And almost anything could be in it. They’re individual, made up by practitioners, depending on what’s needed. Sometimes they’re good luck charms, sometimes, but rarely, more sinister. Even if the contents were analyzed, only your client and the person who mixed it for her would know for sure.”
Daffy began heading toward Canal Street once more. “So, how do you know so much about this?”
“I’ve lived in neighborhoods where voodoo and hoodoo are a way of life. A few years ago a lady three doors down, who had a certain ‘mysterious’ reputation, swore she was going to put a curse on her neighbor’s dog if it didn’t stop barking in the middle of the night. One night old Rusty started to bark, and right in the middle of a ferocious yelp, he stopped. When the owner went outside to see what had happened, she found the dog lying on his back with all four legs straight up in the air. Dead as a doornail.”
“Maybe somebody poisoned him.”
“I think he died of old age. In dog years he was about a hundred and two.” He put his hand over his heart in false piety. “I think Rusty went mid-bark, exactly the way he wanted to.”
She tried not to laugh. “Did the voodoo lady claim responsibility?”
“I doubt anybody asked her. Rusty’s owner was pretty intimidated. Last time I talked to her she was sticking to cats–but not black ones.”
“Maybe I should talk to your voodoo lady for more info.”
“She disappeared one night. One moment she was there, sitting out on her stoop catching the breeze, and the next morning everything in the house was gone. Just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Magic.”