This, That and Pimpage*...

*stole that word from B.E. Sanderson

THIS: I purchased a new pillow recently - was having a very hard time getting my pillow to behave, I think all the fluff had defluffed. I'm the kind of sleeper who rolls around (a lot) and drags the pillow with me - tucking it up under my chin. You can see why after a year or so said pillow gets defluffed. By the morning, my pillow looks like it has been through a war. For the past couple of weeks (more like a month), I've been uncomfortable - a good sign that a new pillow was needed. I splurged and bought a very fancy pillow (I won't even tell you the price because I am appalled that I spent that on a pillow, but I got sucked in by the advertising promise of "The Best Sleep Ever"). Result: I.Love.My.Pillow.

Only problem - I end up with severe bedhead in the morning! Prior to The Pillow, I'd have a few hairs out of place - easy enough to tame. Now, I look like I've got my hand on one of those electrical balls you see in the science museums (if you touch it, your hair will stand on end). Oh, well, I'm sleeping, so that's the important thing - I'll just pretend that I'm back in the 80s when big hair was all the rage (hmmm, I should get some shoulder pads).

THAT: After how many months (years) of being stuck with Mickey Spencer, AC (wrote her into a corner that I couldn't figure out how to get out of), I've had an epiphany! Muse must have been working hard in the background without me knowing about it because earlier this week the next scene just popped into my head. Strange how things like that happen - OK, granted I have been thinking about Mickey again, but not in an all-consuming, fingers poised over keyboard kind of way. Then - boom, the answer. Now I have to get out of my own way and type that scene - don't go back to the previous two scenes, which now will be null and void with this new scene, I can fix that later. Then, I can press forward and maybe, maybe get it finished!

PIMPAGE: The Wild Okies are at it again. Over Christmas they did a lovely anthology based on The Twelve Days of Christmas - 12 short stories all somewhat related sent in Regency England. I loved it - and I know a lot of you were reading along, too. For Valentine's Day, they've set the scene in the present at a ski lodge in Colorado. We're on Day 3, my friend Silver James has her story posted for today. I've added the website back to my blogroll on the right-hand side: Chocolates, Flowers and... For those wanting to start from the beginning, here's the first post (a blurb on the 'project'), http://wildokies.blogspot.ca/2013_01_01_archive.html, and you'll find the right-hand side of their blog has all the stories listed under the Blog Archive. Enjoy - I know I am.

So, pillows? Are you a fluffer or do you simply sleep in one position and the pillow cradles your head the same way every night? Do you think it's important to spend lots of money on a pillow - afterall, you do use it 8 hours a night? Feathers, foam, firm or soft?

Overwhelmed and Undecided...

So, as I think about getting back to my writing (yes, still thinking because I'm overwhelmed, which I'll explain here), I waffle back and forth on what to write. I have at least half dozen manuscripts languishing on various laptops. And, the overwhelming part, each of those manuscripts have been started or stopped a half dozen (or more) times.

After I finished Lady Bells (or thought I had), I wrote like a mad woman, pounding the keys and spewing words all over the place. The the fingers slowed, I read craft books, and I worried about the crazy amount of work I would need to do to 'fix' the manuscript after I was done. OK, there's also the fact that some of the story lines went off into 'woowoo' land - can we say 'unbelievable' and 'far-fetched'! Instead of plowing through (this was way before I read Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird where she advises writing 'shitty first drafts'), I started to re-write.

Now, I'm left with mess! But within that mess there are stories I want to tell:

Confessions of a Carbohydrate Slut - Jane Greene has an irrational love of carbs and an allergy to exercise, yet she is determined to lose weight and get healthy before her ex-fiance's wedding. Ryan Bartowski, friend of a friend and personal trainer with the muscles of an Adonis, wants to help. But Jane's unwilling to let another man tell her what to do and she certainly isn't about to fall for another womanizer, especially one who doesn't believe revenge is a dish best served with a heaping pile of mashed potatoes.

A Smuggler's Heart - Gillian McInnis is a multi-tasking professional when it comes to keeping her family protected. She blames herself for the death of her brother and her father's injury, so she has left her life on hold. But the new neighbor, MacKenzie Griffin, awakens a desire she thought long since dead. And her sister's boyfriend has stepped up into the family business. Gillian risks everything when she pursues her own agenda.

Amazing Grayce - One caper – one scam – goes awry and brings a destiny full circle in the midst of minstrel’s antics, a young girl’s forbidden love, and a man given a second chance at love. (Medieval Romance)

The Voice of the Dead - Riley Matheson is drawn to dead people like a soul to the light; so what better occupation than a mortician. As the last person the dead interact with, they share with her their life - and their death. But she believes the stories they tell are products of an over-active imagination and her own loneliness. Until a new manager, a cop and a beautiful young woman convince her to believe in herself and her gift.

Mickey Spencer - For the introduction and first chapter, go HERE

And, of course, I have Lady Bells' sequels (Hugh's brother needs his story told, as does Thomas).

Advice - should I go back through these and try to salvage or start fresh - blank screen - and just write? I'm very interested in Carina Press' submission request of Contemporary Crack. I think that kind of describes my natural writing style and some of the above fit right into that 'genre'. Oh, what to do?

 

Friday Fiction News...

My neice (waves to Richelle) said to me this week that I should think about finishing Mickey and getting it published. She's enjoying the story. She got me thinking - on top of the thinking I had already been doing - that maybe I should work on Mickey Spencer, AC during NaNoWriMo.

For all those who don't know what NaNoWriMo is, let me explain. Every year writers from around the world pledge to write frantically for the month of November. The actual event is called National Novel Writing Month and is incredibly popular. The goal for the month of November - 50,000 words! Here's the link to the official NaNo Site for anyone interested: http://www.nanowrimo.org/

I've never participated. And I've been thinking it would be a great way to kick start my writing again. Of course, I have files filled with bits and pieces of stories - but Mickey Spencer is the newest and freshest. I've already got a good start (17,000 words), so 50,000 more would put in me in single title range. And since I'm writing this on the fly (no editing or revising to date), I'm in that zone where I could just fly. I need to fly!

So, as of right now, Friday Fiction is postponed indefinitely. Don't yell at me! I promise all of you who have been so supportive and tuned in every week that you will get to read the rest of Mickey's story. Just not right now.

I have a feeling that things are changing for me - I have an edginess that usually preceeds a move (no worries, not moving, yet). There's a restlessness and a feeling that I need to be focusing my attention elsewhere. Don't be surprised if the next couple blog posts there's a lot of 'what ifs', maybe even some more philosophical ramblings. No worries if you don't join me on the ride (it could get bumpy), I totally understand. The Zen Habits blog I linked to on Wednesday talked about writing blogs because of the enjoyment factor. My goal for when I started - to make this a journal. I want to honor that decision made - OMG, I've been blogging for over a year - Oct. 12, 2009.

Including picture of the road I ran for my practice half marathon (click on picture to enlarge - yes, that's a three stage hill (the glint at the top of the picture is a school bus coming down the road). This was the worst part, but the rest was pretty hilly, too. This battle with my writing is that hill - and I need to stop staring at the insurmountable obstacle and just move forward. Ooh, I said there would be no more running metaphors - I lied!

Tell me, People of Blogland, do you get edgy? Can you tell if there's change coming (like a bad, arthritic knee warning of impending rain)? Will you forgive me for not posting Friday Fiction for a month? Anyone signed up for NaNoWriMo? Anyone want to sign up?

Friday Fiction - Mickey Spencer, AC ~ Part 25

Well, here we are again. Let me tell you, it was hard getting back into the story after such a long break. For those wondering, the last crossword clue (back when) was "A Talking to" and the answer was "reprimand". As always, play along with the crossword clue - and leave your guess in the comment section if you want.

For those new to Mickey Spencer, AC, I did a short synopsis last week. Go here for that summary - it should get you up to date with our intrepid accounting clerk.

Enjoy :)

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Part 25 ~ Reality _____ (5 Letters)

“How are you?”

“Fine. Ray explained everything. Seems his last girlfriend had issues with Mandy. He didn’t want to lose me, so he kept her a secret. They’re in the process of moving her to a different home, she’s having problems with the new director at the one on Glenam Place.”

I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “And the last time you failed to let the private investigator do his job?”

“She was being moved from a more structured institute to the home on Glenam. And you’re not a private investigator.”

Ow! But she was right. I wasn’t a private investigator and never would be. That truth settled like a big ball of disappointment right in the pit of my stomach. All these years of wanting and dreaming had come to an end. I glanced down at the papers littering my desk and the ball shot back up into my throat at the thought of being an accounting clerk for the rest of my working life.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so harsh, it’s just been a crazy couple of days. You did a great job, much better than the first guy I hired; so thanks for that.”

“Please don’t tell my grandfather.” I couldn’t handle his disappointment on top of my own. “And tear up my business card.”

“Consider it done. I’ll see you around, Mickey.”

I hung up the phone. Time to do my job. My real job. With a quick glance at the clock, I realized, thankfully, that the day was almost done.

The time flew once I got myself organized. And I figured keeping busy would help me avoid the heartache I was experiencing. There would be enough time on my own that night to wallow in self-pity and wonder what, if anything, I could have done differently. Of course, not pretending to be a private eye was the obvious answer.

“Ready to go?”

I looked up to see Brenda in the doorway. “I just want to finish filing my invoices. Have the Dicks left?”

“Evan’s still in his office. Night, Mickey.”

After the papers were filed, I slid out of the office. I wanted nothing to do with Evan Warner, nothing to do with the entire Warner family. Other than the checks they issued, that I needed.

I rode the elevator down by myself and headed to the back of the building, the employees’ entrance. As I stepped out into the cool night air panic replaced disappointment. The employees’ parking lot was empty with the exception of one car. Evan’s. Then I remembered. I had left my car parked on the street off Glenham, miles away. It probably had a gigantic ticket stuffed under the windshield wiper. Or, the way my day was going, it had probably been towed. Either way it was going to cost money over and above the cab fare I would need to get home tonight. A perfect ending.

I reached into my purse for my cell.

“So – ”

I spun around, yanked my hand out of my purse and held up my lipstick tube. Ray Dixon stood a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest.

“Were you going to lipstick me?”

“What? No.” I re-aimed and pressed on the top of the tube. “Pepper Spray.” Nothing happened. I pulled it close. Revlon’s Mocha Silk. Like that would protect me.

“So, are you a journalist or a private investigator?”

“What?” God, I sounded intelligent. “What are you doing here?”

He pulled a card from the front pocket of his jeans. “I found this in my garbage can at work.”

On close inspection, he held it up; I could see the tape that had been used to patch it back together. Carol had torn it up. I should have asked her to shred it.

“I’m sorry, Ray. I wanted to help Carol. She works at the home where my grandfather lives and she was so distraught when she thought you might be cheating on her.” Worried that Ray had come looking for me to exact some kind of revenge I took a step back and kept babbling. “She really does love you and the thought of you with another woman was driving her crazy. And it all turned out well. She accepts Mandy and you don’t have to keep that secret any more. Besides – ”

“I want to hire you.”

Well, that stopped me in my tracks.

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Any news to share, People of Blogland? It's been a while, any books you're reading that you'd like to chat about? Can you believe it's October already?

Friday Fiction - Mickey Spencer, AC ~ Synopsis...

Hard to believe, but I've written over 17,000 words on Mickey Spencer, AC! I sat down to do the next instalment and a quick recap to bring everyone up to speed and realized that a lot has happened over the past 24 instalments! I thought "What a great time to work on my synopsis skills!" Um, yeah - what skills? I hate synopsis even more than writing a query letter and truth be told, I've actually sought out agents who don't request synopsis! Talk about avoidance. I think I've written one or two and they were drier than toast - any agent worth her weight in gold would have finished the first paragraph and either rolled her eyes or nodded off.

So, stay with me as I bring us all up to date on Mickey's adventures and we'll get rolling on the next phase of her 'career' next Friday. Oh, and I would love any and all opinions about my synopsis - that's right, critique away.

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Accounting clerk in real life, Mickey Spencer has always wanted to be a private investigator. Her grandfather always wanted her to be a private investigator. Luckily, working at Warner and Sons Investigations gives her the means to lie to her grandfather. Mickey knows it's wrong, but she loves the man who raised her and can't help but revel in the pride he displays everytime she solves an imagined case.

She probably went too far with the fake business cards, though. Obvious when one of the employees of the home where he resides shows up at the firm begging Mickey to take her case. Jack Warner, younger son, black sheep and soon to be fired, just happens to be in earshot of the conversation. Forced to help him keep his job, Mickey adds blackmail to her growing list of indiscretions and finally gets to play private eye.

The simple case of infidelity gets complicated when Mickey pretends to be a journalist working on a two year old missing persons case. Jack gets interrogated by the police. The cheating boyfriend turns out to be the nicest guy Mickey's ever met. And the client shows up on a stakeout. The private investigator shows Mickey watched as a kid made it look easy, wrapped up in an hour. The reality makes her question whether she ever wants to leave the factual, no-nonsense world of accounting.

With the client driving the car, Mickey follows the boyfriend to his bar on the wrong side of the tracks. He's got two women with him and it's looking like the client's suspicions were right. Mickey has an even bigger problem. Evan Warner, big brother to Jack and the true head of Warner and Sons has followed her from work. Jack can not be reached on his cell phone. Forced to deal with the looming disaster, Mickey begs the client to wait in the car while she goes into the bar.

That lasts five minutes. With all the players in the bar, except for Jack whom Mickey will personally strangle when and if she gets out of the mess she's created, her client's case is solved. Seems the boyfriend was hiding his mentally unstable daughter from the client. The other woman, an innocent social worker caught in a web of lies and suspicions. Mickey's own lie? Evan Warner informs her that the parents of the missing woman, a cold case she used as a cover, have hired Jack, Jack is missing, and she's got some explaining to do when they get back to the office.

She should have keep her resume current!

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OK - did my voice come through? Should you write synopsis in first person if the manuscript is told in first person? If you were an agent, would you be napping by now? Too vague, to detailed? ARGH - I hate synopsis!

Feel free to leave any of your synopsis tricks, hints, ideas in the comment section. And for those just joining us - if you want to read the previous instalments, you can find them all under Mickey Spencer, AC tab at the top of the blog. Hopefully, this gives you a good idea of what's been going on and you can just come on board next week when we see what lies ahead for Mickey (back to her windowless office? soup kitchen? or more sleuthing?).

Friday Fiction - Mickey Spencer, AC ~ Part 24

Last week's clue, Case ______ (7 Letters) was indeed, 'closed'. Carol's case has come to an end, and it seems that Mickey's days of private investigating are finished, as well. Too bad her boss, Jack Warner, is missing and she's left to explain things to Jack's brother and her other boss, Evan.

Enjoy :)

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Part 24 ~ A Talking-to (9 Letters)

As luck would have it, I didn’t need an excuse. I didn’t need much of anything once we got to the office other than the chair Evan indicated I should sit in and my own ears to listen to the litany of offences against me. Give credit to Hot Dick’s brother, he was sharp for a private eye.

Another stroke of luck in my favor, Evan’s dislike for his brother.

“I don’t know what my brother promised you, Mickey, but it couldn’t be worth you losing your job.”

I had a second, maybe two, to decide whether honesty would be the best policy or to throw Jack under the bus. My grandfather’s image flashed in my head and since I had a much stronger and longer relationship with him than with Jack, the big, yellow bus won.

“I’m really sorry, Evan. I got caught up in the excitement. Jack asked me to share the surveillance duty,” not a complete lie. “I should have said no.” To everything, starting with Carol’s first meeting.

“I thought with the length of time you had worked for Warner and Sons, you would have known that Jack was unreliable. His vision for what the company should be is not the direction my father and I have decided to take it. Once we find him, he’ll be let go. As for you, I’d hate to lose you, Mickey. You’re good at your job and have never given us any problems, until now. I’m assuming this was just a misguided blip in a perfect employment record and we can simply forget it happened.”

I had had many nicknames for Evan Warner over the years. Sometimes he was referred to as Mean Dick, the man hardly smiled. For a short period, I called him Sexy Dick, the man oozed sexiness in that ‘I’m hot, but I don’t know it’ kind of way. Of course, he lost that moniker when I took a more than casual interest in his brother’s sexiness – his ‘I’m hot, I know it and so do you’ making me go weak in the knees on some occasions. But at that moment, Evan Warner would forever be known as Pompous Dick.

The man had nerve and if I didn’t have to keep a roof over my head, my grandfather’s head and, occasionally, my mom’s head, I would have told him to stick his job up his misguided blip.

I mumbled, “Thank you.”

“Do you have any idea where Jack is? Did he give you any indication as to his plans?”

“No.” Like hell I’d be more forthcoming than that. Although, I really had no idea where Jack was.

“I understood from your reaction in the bar that you didn’t know he had spoken to the family of the missing woman. Why would he have contacted them?”

“I don’t know.” Honestly, I didn’t. It wasn’t like we were really looking into the case of the missing woman. That had just been a cover. My cover. Unless Jack discovered something the day he dropped me off blocks from the bar.

“When was the last time you saw Jack? Exact time and location, Mickey.”

“Two days ago. He dropped me off for my surveillance duty.” There was no way I was sharing with Pompous Dick the conversation Jack and I had had in his car, when I had had my head in his lap. Heat rushed to my face at the memory.

“And you’ve had no contact since then?”

“None.” I tried to think of something mundane. Something that would erase the image of me lying sprawled across the gearshift, my head pillowed by Jack’s hard thigh. Nothing came to mind and the temperature in the room rose again.

“So the only thing you were helping Jack with was the infidelity case?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks.” He shuffled some papers on his desk. I took that as my cue to vacate his office. Gladly. With one hand on the door handle, Evan cleared his throat. I glanced over my shoulder.

“If Jack phones you, please transfer the call to me.”

Only after I had torn a strip off Hot Dick for leaving me holding the bag. I hoped the big, yellow bus had monster truck tires. And maybe flames shooting out of dual exhaust pipes low enough to leave burn marks. “I will.”

I stalked across the reception area toward my office. Brenda waved me down, she had the phone cradled against her chest. Jack?

“Carol’s on line three. She says it’s important. Can you take the call?”

Hmm, Ray’s interrogation must be over, too. Couldn’t wait to hear what had happened. “Right away.”

Copyright: Janet S. Corcoran 2010

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So, People of Blogland, any news this week? Anything to share - snippets, books read, hurricane sightings? Looking forward to chatting :)

Chapter Breaks...

When I write, I don't usually think about chapter breaks. OK - probably not the smartest thing in the world considering how hard it is to go in after and decide where to break up the prose. Most likely it's because I'm a pantser - I just write. Whatever comes out of the pen or however my fingers type, that's what I write. Writing Mickey's story has really shown me that I'm a storyteller. But it's also shown me the importance of hooking a reader at the end of the instalment.

Funny, in Lady Bells I was naive and innocent. I was writing for the sake of writing. Then, when it came time to revise - after I had made the decision to move on to the next stage - I instinctively created chapter breaks where there was a hook. I love reading books that give me that thrill at the end of chapter - lure me into 'just one more chapter' as my eyes are burning and The Husband has grunted for the umpteenth time to turn out the light, it's late. To me, that's the sign of an author who can write quite literally a page turner!

My beta readers (my wonderful beta readers) all commented on my ability to entice them to keep reading. My ability to hook the reader. Then came all the technical stuff - the reading about craft and how to create scene/sequel/scene. The three act 'rule' for writing chapters where there should be mini-beginnings, middles and ends in your chapters. I'll be quite frank (and you can be Frank tomorrow night) - I didn't get it! I still don't think I get it. But I do get the fact that I need to tempt my readers into turning that page.

Lu made me give thought to this issue when she commented on Friday's post, Mickey's instalment. I had confused her - and when I first read that I panicked. OMG, don't confuse your reader - they'll put down the book and they'll never, ever think of picking up any book you've written ever again! But, then I started to think. If I had confused her, and that had been a chapter break, would she have kept reading in order to figure things out? Yes, I admit, even I was worried that I hadn't given enough in the segment to tie all the pieces together. But this is the wrapping up of Carol's part of the story, the part where the real test for Mickey begins. I had to write it that way - besides, that's what came from typing on the keyboard.

Then, as I was doing a critique for a writing friend - I came to a scene ending and thought "That should be a chapter break!" The build-up was over - it was onto the big game, the part where it was either going to work itself out or the crap was going to hit the fan. It could go either way, but all the preliminary stuff leading up to that moment was done. To me (no expert - re-read the above paragraphs), it was the perfect spot to end the chapter. Would I have turned that page? Would I have settled further into the pillows in order to read just one more chapter? Would I have said "Yeah, yeah, I know." to The Husband and realize that I would pay tomorrow with burning eyes and exhaustion as I tackle the Day Job? Hell, yes!! Because there was a hook - a lure - and a burning question "What's going to happen?"

I've started reading Sophie Kinsella's newest, Twenties Girl, and I'm watching for her chapter breaks. Do you, People of Blogland, consciously look at chapter breaks when you're reading? How about when you're writing - is it in your mind as you either tell your story in chapters the first time or revise to create chapters? Readers - do you endure another chapter knowing that you'll be tired because the author's left you wanting more? Do you even think about chapter breaks? And last question (boy, I'm chatty, and nosey, about this topic) - have you ever read a book with no chapters? Would you want to? OK, can't resist, one more - are you a reader that must end your reading session at the end of a chapter or can you just finish anywhere when the time to stop reading comes?

*I think I may need to chat about this topic some more!

Friday Fiction - Mickey Spencer, AC ~ Part 23

Well, here we are again. For those playing along with the crossword clues - the last clue was in reference to Gomer Pyle, who used to say: "Surprise, surprise, surprise!" If you have a guess for this week's clue, leave it in the comment section. I'll post the answer next week.

This week we see the end of Carol's case, almost. Of course, Mickey's not off the hook for all the lies she's told and Jack's still missing; so Mickey Spencer, AC will continue! I hope you enjoy :)

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Part 23 ~ Case ______ (6 Letters)

Carol!

I had been saved by Evan’s private investigator’s discretion, I didn’t think I had the same chance with Carol. For what seemed like the twentieth time that day, I thought of plausible stories that would get me out of the jam I had one big toe firmly stuck.

Time stood still. No, really, it did. I still hadn’t released Evan’s hand and Carol stood in all her anger and beauty at the open door. Goddess-like with the bright sunny day creating a halo effect around her, we all stared at her. She glared back, pulling her sunglasses off in a dramatic sweep of her arm, one hand placed firmly on her hip. Ray emerged from the kitchen, his hands full of our lunch plates. He, too, froze into the little tableau, but only for a second.

“Carol?”

And that got the party started. Lisa jumped off the barstool. I released Evan’s hand and clutched my purse to my chest as if that would protect me from the big ball of crap that was about to hit the fan. Ray dumped the plates on the counter and moved with lightening speed to intercept Carol as she moved toward Lisa.

Evan leaned into me and asked, “Your client?”

“You think?” Honestly, sarcasm just oozed from me in times of stress. I regretted my quip, but couldn’t take my eyes from the train wreck long enough to send a silent apology to my boss. Soon to be ex-boss.

“And what kind of story are you going to make up this time, Ray Dixon?”

“It’s not what you think, Carol?”

“Really, because from where I’m standing it’s exactly what I think. You’ve been cheating on me. For years. With her.”

Lisa cringed. I didn’t blame her. Carol’s tone would send a shiver of fear down Freddy Kruger’s back.

“I told you the last time and I’ll tell you again, I’m not cheating on you.”

“Then who is she? And why do I always find you two together. The phone calls, the e-mails? Come on, Ray, I’m listening.”

Mandy had slid off her barstool and came to stand beside Ray, her head cocked to the side as she inspected Carol. Ray pushed her back.

“Oh, my God. You two have a love child?”

From where I stood, I could see Carol’s eyes tearing up. I looked at Ray, sensing Evan’s focus also moving toward the big man with the kitchen towel over his shoulder. I had the sudden image of a tennis game, the spectators watching the bouncing ball as it landed in one competitor’s court, then the other’s.

“No! No. Carol, you’re wrong. Lisa and Mandy are friends of mine.”

Our heads swung to Carol, but it was Mandy who spoke.

“I’m his daughter, she’s my social worker. I take it this is your girlfriend and you’re too ashamed of me to have told her I exist.”

Well, that put everything out there. I wondered what exactly Mandy was suffering from, from my point of view, she was the sanest one in the bar.

“That’s not true.” Ray had himself in a bigger jam than I did.

“She’s your daughter? When exactly were you going to tell me you had a teenage daughter?”

I figured the time was perfect to make a clean getaway. I elbowed Evan and tipped my head toward the door. He gave a brief nod and we headed into the fray.

“This looks personal and I need to be canvassing the other businesses about this missing man. Thanks for your time.”

“I should go, too. Like he said, this is personal and I…” I didn’t know what else to say besides a prayer that Carol wouldn’t rat me out.

Carol’s icy glare froze me to the spot. “Who’s that?”

Evan slipped out the door. Jerk. I did the only thing I could think of, I pulled out my business card and handed it over. “Mickey Spencer, journalist. Ray’s been kind enough to let me hang out here while I worked on a story.” I pointed to the door. “I should go.”

I didn’t wait around long enough to have any of them insist that I stay. But I did hear Ray. “I didn’t think you’d understand.”

He had a lot of explaining to do in a short amount of time. His bar opened in a couple of hours.

Evan’s car pulled to a stop in front of me. I had no choice but to get in. Looked like two of us were going to play Wheel of Interrogation. Vanna, can I buy an excuse?

Copyright: Janet S. Corcoran 2010

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Any news this week, People of Blogland? Any bits of writing you'd like to share - please do so in the comment section. What are the plans for the weekend?

Interesting Discovery...

Leads to lesson learned!

As I'm banging out Mickey Spencer, AC, I'm posting what is essentially a first draft. Since I don't sit down until Thursday night to create the next instalment, I leave myself absolutely no time for serious revisions (other than spelling, grammar - and that I don't guarantee, and possibly a tweak of wording or phrasing). And I think this is where I've had issues in the past.

Let me explain - Lady Bells was written as a first draft (on yellow legal pad paper). I just picked it up and continued on from where I had left off, day after day until I wrote "The End". This, of course, was back in my naive stage where I had no idea about publishing or 'the rules'. Since then, I've attempted a dozen stories and I always, always stop when I think the story is derailing. Or when my brain suggests a different route.

For example - on Thursday, as I sat down at the computer and re-read the last couple of instalments, my brain insisted that I had gone down the wrong road. I shouldn't have had Evan standing at the car waiting for Mickey and Carol to drive past. My brain suggested that Evan should remain out of the story line and Mickey should resolve the case, return to the office and then discover that Jack was working for the parents of the missing woman and that he was missing. Only then would Evan be brought into the storyline!

But, I couldn't do it. The work goes live every Friday morning. I couldn't take back what I had already done. Ask my readers, "Oh, hey, could you go back to Part 17 and forget everything you read from then on? Here, we're going to go this way now." And this is the discovery. I need to stop - no, I need to go! Keep writing - don't stop because I think it would make more sense if I went a different route because if I take that route, then another detour will happen and I'll be derailed - AGAIN!

I have a story on my hard drive (Gillian and Mac's story) that I've started 5 different times. I get to a point and then I say, "Oh, I should have done this." Then, I go back and do that only to come up against a huge brick wall - or another revelation that sends me right back to the start. Writing that first draft should not resemble a game of Snakes and Ladders!

Interesting discovery - lesson learned :)

So, People of Blogland, have you learned this lesson or do you revise as you write? Have you come up against a brick wall because you overthink your first draft? Have you come up against a brick wall in life because you've overthunk your options? Is 'overthunk' a word?

Fiction Friday - Mickey Spencer, AC ~ Part 22

That time of the week again - Fiction Friday! Previous instalments can be found under Mickey Spencer, AC tab at the top of the blog. And the answer to last week's cryptic crossword clue (Winging it - 9 letters) was Improvise! Play along with this week's clue - leave you answer in the comment section - and come back next week for the answer.

Enjoy :)

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Part 22 ~ Surprise, surprise, ________ (8 Letters)

Ray emerged from the kitchen, again. "Now what?"

Evan held out his hand. "You're the owner? I'm Evan Warner, private investigator with Warner and Sons."

"Ray Dixon." The men shook hands. Lisa shrugged her shoulders and slid back onto her barstool next to Mandy and I.

Slick sweat dampened my skin and my breathing was shallow. I exhaled quietly, slowly, forcing my shoulders down from around my ears. Then I scrambled to come up with a decent explanation when Evan got around to asking me just what the hell I was doing.

"Have you seen this man recently?"

Ooh, how I wanted to snap my head around in order to see what Evan was doing, what picture he was showing Ray, but I kept it cool. Ignored him while discovering I had shredded a paper napkin into confetti-sized pieces.

"He was in a week or so ago. Talked to Mickey. Mickey?"

My breathing ratcheted back up to hyperventilating level and my hands shook as I swiveled to face Evan. He held a picture of Jack. "What?" Like I hadn't been listening to every word.

"This guy, Evan?"

Evan nodded his head, but his cold, blue gaze didn't waver from my face. If it wasn't so darn hot under the pressure of getting caught in one gigantic lie, I’m sure the skin on my arms would have pimpled with goosebumps.

"He's a private investigator and he's looking for that guy you were talking to the first time you came into the bar. The guy who knew something about the missing woman."

Again, Evan stuck out his hand. "You are?"

"Mickey Spencer, journalist." I fished in my purse for a business card. If he was going to play along, I was right there on stage with him.

"I'm looking for this guy. Would you mind giving me a few moments of your time?"

I glanced back at Mandy, Lisa and Ray. "No, not at all."

"You don't mind if we use your table in the back?"

"Maybe we should leave. Ray's not open right now."

"No, it's fine, Mickey. I'll get back to cooking lunch."

"What are you doing here, Mickey?"

His butt hadn't even touched the chair and the questions I had dreaded were flying. "I could ask you the same thing. You followed me from work." Great, antagonize the boss.

He slid the picture of Jack across the table and glanced quickly at the bar. "Jack is missing. He's not in his usual haunts - bars, brothels, casinos. And you never take sick days. Let's just say I grew suspicious when you two had the closed door meeting a couple of mornings ago. Then there was the phone call from the family of the missing woman wanting to talk to Jack to see if he had discovered anything else about the case."

"What!" Certainly not my journalist's voice, the question came out as more of a high-pitched yowl. I didn't dare turn to see if the barsitters had noticed.

Evan tapped the picture. He lowered his voice. "I need you to come back to the office. We have a lot to discuss." The inflection did not go unnoticed. "And I want to know the exact day, hour and minute you last saw Jack."

He stood up, extending his hand. I followed his lead, the door to the bar opening as I grasped Evan's hand. Lisa must have forgotten to relock it after Evan had arrived. Ray should consider opening during the lunch hour. I froze, hand firmly secured in Evan's.


Copyright: Janet S. Corcoran

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How's the week been going, People of Blogland? Any annoucements (um, Silver?), news, break-throughs? Care to take a guess at who's coming through the door this week?

Friday Fiction - Mickey Spencer, AC ~ Part 21

Last week's answer was "Franklin" - yes, Benjamin Franklin coined the phrase 'Honesty is the best policy'. And Mickey sure was honest. Let's hope it doesn't come back to bite her in the butt!

Previous instalments can be found under the tab above labeled Mickey Spencer, AC.

As always, enjoy :)

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Part 21 ~ Winging It (9 Letters)

"There’s a parking lot kitty corner to The Anchor. We’re going to go around the old train station and come in from that street entrance. I want you to park as far away from the bar as possible."

I had no idea how long Ray was going to take at the bar and I wasn’t even sure he would park in his usual spot in the back alley, but I didn’t want him spotting Carol’s car or Carol. As for the plan after we got parked, I had nothing.

Carol tucked the car beside a massive truck, leaving herself out far enough so we had a perfect view of the front of the bar. Ray’s vehicle was absent meaning he had parked in the back. Or outmanoeuvred us. I didn’t want to think of that scenario.

"Stay in the car." I stuffed my sunglasses into my purse and checked that I had the camera and tape recorder. On a deep inhalation to calm my racing heart, I opened the car door then looked back at Carol. "Stay in the car."
"I heard you the first time."

"Just like you heard the first private investigator?"

She pursed her lips and clutched the steering wheel. "Understood."

With my bag slung over my shoulder, I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants. This was not how I envisioned solving this case. A quick glance around told me Evan had yet to show up, although he was much more versed in surveillance and could be parked where I couldn’t see him. I’m not sure what that would accomplish. I think he would jump at the chance of firing me on the spot. I was toast.

The door to the bar was locked, just as I expected. With my hands cupped around my eyes, I peered in through the grimy glass not even wanting to think of the germs transferring to my skin. The lights were on. The young girl sat on a barstool next to Lisa, Ray was no where to be seen. I knocked on the door.

"Sorry, we’re closed."

"I know. Is Ray here?"

"Who is it, Lisa?" Ray emerged from the back, kitchen towel draped over his shoulder. "Mickey?"

"Hey, Ray. I saw the lights on and wondered if everything was OK?" I had yet to move into the bar, trying for a casual, in-the-neighborhood feel to my visit. Any sign of tension or suspicion and I was out of there.

"It’s fine, Lisa. Mickey’s a journalist working on the missing woman story. She’s become a bit of a regular."

I chuckled. At least I hope it sounded like a chuckle and not a gurgling of anxiety and stress. Lisa stood back and let me enter, locking the door behind me.

"Mickey. This is Lisa Johnson. And this is Mandy, my daughter. I’m cooking us lunch, you want something?"

"Whatever you’re having will be great. Thanks." I tried not to stare at Mandy. The daughter! "Nice to meet you both."

Ray headed back to the kitchen leaving me with the women-folk. Lisa resumed her position on the stool and I followed along, slipping my hand into my purse and clicking on the tape recorder. Why I didn’t do that in the car I have no idea? Nerves? No game plan? Stupidity? All of the above?

"You must be Ray’s girlfriend?"

Lisa looked genuinely shocked. "No. Oh, no! I’m just a friend."

"She’s my social worker."

Mandy didn’t look up, just uttered the words and kept picking at her black fingernail polish. I couldn’t get a read on how tall she was, slumped at the bar, her hair hanging forward covering her face and the brim of Ray’s hat covering her eyes.

Lisa gave a nervous laugh. Seems more than just one of us was in an uncomfortable position.
The knock at the door drew Lisa and my attention. Mandy continued to pick.

"Grand Central Station." Lisa got up and headed to the door. I couldn’t see who was there, the glare of the sun casting the new arrival in silhouette. I crossed my fingers it wasn’t Carol.

"Sorry, we’re closed."

"I just need to ask you a few questions."

Evan! I’d recognize that sultry, deep voice anywhere. My cover was about to be blown.


Copyright: Janet S. Corcoran 2010

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So, how was your week, People of Blogland? Any news to share? Snippets to post in the comments - please do? What are you reading? And for those interested in my soul-searching blogpost over on The Prairies, click here (I'll warn you, there's some deep emotion over there).

Friday Fiction - Mickey Spencer, AC ~ Part 20

Yikes, running late with this! Last week's crossword answer was indeed 'shotgun' - I think all of you got it right. This week, if you want to play along, just leave your answer in the comment section and come back next week for the answer.

Parts 1 - 19 are under Mickey Spencer, AC tab at the top of the blog (actually, I'm behind in getting my instalments up there, but everything should be there by tonight - now that I've put it out there in public...). As always, I hope you enjoy!

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Part 20 ~ The last name of the man who coined: Honesty is the best policy (8 Letters)

"What do we do?"

Carol turned those big blue eyes on me and I, being the brilliant, self-assured private investigator, shrugged my shoulders. My gut reaction was to follow Ray, Lisa and the girl, but my client was not only in the car, she owned the car and was driving the car. My other options? I had none. When in doubt, go with the gut.

"Follow them, but at a distance. We don’t want Ray spotting you or your car." Or me in the car, but I kept that observation to myself. I glanced up at Gert’s house as we drove past and gave a wave as Gert still stood in her window; binoculars now trained on us.

I kept an eye on Ray’s truck as it turned left at the t-junction. Carol came to a full 3 second stop and gently manoeuvred her vehicle into post lunch traffic. With driving skills that rivalled that of the best driving instructor in the world, I stole a glance towards my car, parked a mere 200 yards from the corner. I would be in violation after another hour and the ticket would cost me dearly. But that was the least of my worries. Evan Warner lounged against my car, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Holy crap on a stick!"

"Who’s that leaning on your car?"

Not relying entirely on my sunglasses concealing my identity from my boss, I spun to face Carol and raised my hand to block my face. She glanced at me from the corner of her eye. The smile I mustered didn’t quite reach my constricting heart. "My boss."

She glanced over her shoulder. "He’s staring at us."

"Just keep driving."

"Isn’t your boss Jack?"

And where was Jack anyway? I had the feeling I should have stayed in bed that morning. "Warner and Sons. Evan and Jack are brothers, they are partnered with their father, Robert." Dick, Dick and Dick Investigations.

"Right, I remember your grandfather telling me." She kept flicking her gaze into the rearview mirror. "I think he recognized you."

Yes, I will admit to the fact that I groaned. Out loud. I may have even dropped my head into my hands. The day was moving from bad to worse at lightening speed.

"Just keep following Ray."

"He’s following us."

I spun in my seat to stare out the back window hoping that Carol was wrong.

"Black SUV, about five cars back."

"Are you sure?"

"Same one he got into after we drove past."

First, someone should tell these brainless Dicks that private investigators shouldn’t drive such obvious vehicles. Evan with his FBI wannabe vehicle and Jack with his red corvette. Talk about conspicuous. And B, where was Jack? I pulled my cellphone from my purse and dialed his number. Right through to voicemail.

"Jack? You need to call me right now! Your brother may be onto our little assignment." I clicked the phone shut and glanced over at Carol. Demerit points, she had her entire focus on me. "Watch the road, Carol."

They say silence is golden, but in that car at that moment, silence was like a ticking bomb. And even if I got through defusing it, there was another bigger, more powerful one waiting for me when we stopped the car. Ray was leading us downtown, toward his bar, which gave me roughly 15 minutes to become an explosives expert.

I swallowed. Hard. Cleared my throat. Twice. And inhaled whatever courage lingered in the air. "Carol? I need you to keep your eye on the road. I’m not really a private investigator. I’m the accounting clerk at Warner and Sons and the business card you got from my grandfather was a poor attempt to make him proud. I should never have taken your case and I’m sorry I’ve deceived you."

That wasn’t so bad, except for the lump of shame wedged in my oesophagus.

"Well, you’re honest."

"That’s not everything. Jack and I took this case without the company’s approval. Evan doesn’t know anything about you or Ray. He thinks I’ve been sick. He must have followed me from the office this morning." I glanced over my shoulder and saw that he continued to trail us. "And Ray believes I’m a journalist working on an anniversary story about a cold case that happened down near his bar."

"Did I just compliment you on your honesty?"

Her voice had an edge to it that did not bode well for me. "Sorry."

Carol’s fingers had tightened on the steering wheel, not quite the death grip she had when she saw Ray with Lisa, but enough to make me worry again about the presence of a gun. "I don’t like being lied to, as you know, but you’re the only accounting clerk slash private investigator I’ve got, Mickey, and I’m not starting from scratch again. Ray’s heading for The Anchor. Can you get the evidence I need to confront him about his infidelity?"

Shaken by my confession and Carol’s decision to continue on, all I could do was nod my head. One bomb disarmed, one to go.

Copyright: Janet S. Corcoran 2010

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Any news this week, People of Blogland? Anyone reading anything they'd like to share? Perhaps a snippet or a problem you're having with a work in progress? What about the weekend plans - anything exciting?

Friday Fiction - Mickey Spencer, AC ~ Part 19

Welcome back to Mickey Spencer, AC! Mickey's first case as a Private Investigator isn't going according to plan. Her client has just shown up on a stakeout and the man in question isn't acting like a lowdown, cheating sleezeball. Mickey's beginning to think that accounting clerk isn't such a bad job after all!

The answer to last week's clue was indeed 'disaster'. Check back next week for the answer to this week's clue. And for previous instalments, click on the Mickey Spencer, AC tab at the top of this blog - it's all there in one place for easy reading.

Enjoy :)

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Part 19 ~ Occupying the Passenger Seat – Riding _______ (7 Letters)

I stared out the window, unwilling to blink in case I missed something of importance. Like Ray and Lisa emerging hand in hand and Carol jumping from her car, screaming Ray’s name at the top of her lungs, waving a loaded gun in the air. It all played out in slow motion in my mind and I didn’t like the ending one bit.

"I’ll be back." I grabbed my purse and sprinted from the room, yelling over my shoulder, "Stay inside, Gert."

With my own homage to Jackie O, I slipped on my sunglasses and tried to look casual while run-walking down the driveway and over to Carol’s car. The door was locked and I had to tap on the window and peer through the glass before the click issued an invitation to enter. I slid into the passenger side and pulled off my shades. "Start the car and back up at least a half a block."

Carol opened her mouth.

"No!" I pointed at the steering column. "Start it, move it and then we’ll talk."

She did as I asked. I had no idea I could be so forceful. I needed to remember this the next time I went in to ask for a raise: dynamic, powerful, effective versus stuttering, wimpy, and unassertive. The Dicks wouldn’t know what hit them.

"We should be fine here." I waited for her to put it in gear and switch off the engine before I went for the proverbial throat. "What the hell are you doing? Did you follow me here?"

At least she looked ashamed when she removed her sunglasses and aimed those big blue eyes my way. They were red-rimmed and watery. "I’m sorry, Mickey. Your grandfather told me that you had a break in the case and were about to catch Ray in a compromising situation."

Gramps was due some of my new kick-ass attitude when I had the time. Right now, I was up to my eyeballs in Private Eye Hell. "You said before in our interview that Ray had been cheating on you before. I need to know what happened. Did you hire a private detective at that time?"

"Yes."

"Did you follow him?"

"Yes."

Like a great crossword puzzle with most of the letters filled in, I didn’t need to know the word to finish the puzzle. "And the reason there was no proof is because the private investigator didn’t finish the job. You confronted Ray."

"Yes."

The door to The Home opened and I spotted Ray stepping over the threshold. "Sunglasses on, Carol. Let’s hope he’s so invested in either the woman he’s with or the reason he’s here that he doesn’t notice your car." I scrunched down in the passenger seat and aimed my camera.

Ray stopped on the front walkway, suitcase in hand, and turned back to the door. A dark haired young woman, tall and gangly in a teenage way, hands dug deep into jean pockets, shoulders slumped against the injustices of the world, stepped out into the sunshine. She wore the ball cap Ray had worn upon his arrival.

"Do you know her?"

"No. I’ve never seen her before."

Lisa backed out of the door, obviously talking to whoever was in the vestibule of the building. She closed the door and turned eliciting a gasp from Carol.

"You know her?"

Carol gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles whitening from the pressure. I took that as a yes. She sat forward and I remembered Gert’s question.

"Carol, you don’t own a gun, do you?"

She remained fixated on the scene playing out before us. Lisa joining Ray and the young girl on the sidewalk, a discussion between the adults, and, finally, all three moving toward the vehicles.

I snapped pictures while keeping an eye on Carol. She hadn’t denied owning a gun, but with the slow strangulation of the steering wheel I assumed she didn’t or Ray would be dead by now.

Everyone piled into Ray’s truck with the suitcase stowed in the bed. My only prayer, besides Carol not pulling a Glock from under the car seat, was that Ray would pull a U-turn in front of Gert’s house. I didn’t need him spotting Carol’s car, Carol or me since I had a long way to go before this case sorted itself out.

Copyright: Janet S. Corcoran 2010

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How's the week going for you, People of Blogland? Big question - is everyone still interested in following Mickey? I can wrap it up relatively soon or I can continue to build and layer. I certainly don't want to bore you all to death! As always, feel free to use the comment section for news, snippets, or tell us what you're reading.

Friday Fiction - Mickey Spencer, AC ~ Part 18

That time again. For those wishing to catch up, the previous instalments have their own page under the Mickey Spencer, AC tab at the top of the blog. Those who are playing along with the crossword clues, last week's answer was "Lies" - I think all of you got it right :)

As always, I hope you enjoy. I know I had fun writing this instalment!

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Part 18 ~ A Tornado or Hurricane or Tsunami (8 Letters) ~

Of course, I immediately left the office and all the paperwork piled high on my desk. Mystery woman had a name, Lisa Johnson. According to Gert, she was at the Home and I planned on tailing her for the rest of the day, if I wasn’t too late getting over to Glenham. My guts churned, and not just from the late night snack of high calories and too many fat grams. Even if she wasn’t Ray’s girlfriend, whom I believed wholeheartedly she wasn’t, there was a connection between the two of them and I was determined to uncover it.

I parked at the end of the street, deciding to walk in again, and took a long look in both directions. Goosebumps pebbled my skin causing the hair on my arms to stand at attention. The beautiful spring weather could not be blamed. I felt watched.

No. I felt stalked.

I had blamed the unease this morning on lack of sleep and worry over the solving the case, but now I wondered if I had been followed bright and early from my apartment.

Jack! He better not be trailing me! I flung my tote over my shoulders and lifted my chin. I couldn’t resist sticking out my tongue. To a passer-by, I was simply licking my lips. To Jack, hopefully he’d get the message.

Just as Gert said, Lisa Johnson’s car was parked at the curb outside the mental institute. I crossed over to the other side and up Gert’s sidewalk. I would watch from there. Gert opened the door before I had a chance to knock.

"She took in a suitcase."

Gert led me to the window where she parked herself next to me and lifted binoculars that were dangling around her neck. I fished in my tote for my camera and lifted it to my eye to get a better view. Our legs hadn’t even got a chance to get numb when a truck rumbled down the road.

Big. Red. Two-door!

"Is that the two-timing son of a bi – "

"Gert!"

"Well, is it?"

Yep, Ray Dixon, who should have been still hunkered down in his house according to Carol’s timetable, parked his truck haphazardly behind Ms. Johnson’s and jumped from the cab. And after a couple of days of following him and hanging out at his bar, he wasn’t dressed for work. Low slung jeans, sandals, t-shirt advertising America’s Beer, ball cap pulled low on his forehead.

"He looks like he doesn’t want to be recognized."

I had to agree with her especially with the surreptitious glance up and down the street and the hustle to get into The Home.

"Have you seen him around here before, Gert?"

"I couldn’t get a good look at him, but I don’t remember the truck." She swung her binoculars to her right and held them steady in one hand while she pointed. "I do, however, recognize that car."

A blue sedan drove by at the speed of a non-racing turtle giving me plenty of time to identify Carol behind the wheel. Through the lens of my camera I could see she had donned a wide-brimmed straw hat and glasses Jackie O would covet. The disguise hid her face, but someone should have told her about not driving the everyday car to a stakeout.

"Great!"

"Who are you calling?"

"Just a man with regards to his mouth." I waited for Gramps to pick up and watched Carol head down the street, pull a 7 point turn, and then park in the shade of an giant oak tree exactly one house down from Gert’s.

"Morning, Honey. How’s the case?"

"What exactly did you tell Carol?"

"Oh." Silence followed.

"Gramps?"

"The girls are here to take me down to the rec room, Mickey. Don’t want to be late for that first Bingo game." This time a click proceeded the silence.

"The man doesn’t even like Bingo."

Gert lowered the binoculars. "What’s that, Mickey?"

"Nothing."

"Is that your client? Oh, my this is going to get interesting." Gert hoisted the binoculars and swung them around to stare at Carol.

Interesting? Well that was a good way to describe something I would call a complete mess. No wonder I had the feeling I was being followed. And did she have to park directly across the street? Ray would recognize the vehicle as soon as he emerged.

"Do you think she’s packing?"

Seconds passed before I realized what Gert implied. Carol with a gun? Wow, could the day get any better?

~Copyright: Janet S. Corcoran

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So, tell me what's happening in your world, People of Blogland? How's the writing going? What are you reading? Share a snippet or perhaps a great line in the book you're reading - I love great lines!

Friday Fiction - Mickey Spencer, AC ~ Part 17

And I'm back. Thank you all for your understanding last week - and your support for Mickey Spencer (glad to know everyone's enjoying our sleuth's first private investigating adventure). For a little catch-up and an exercise in blurb/synopsis/query type writing - here's my version of "Last time, on Mickey Spencer, AC" - this also gives the new readers the Reader's Digest version so you don't have to read all 16 parts previous to this one (but you can - here).

When the co-owner, Jack Warner, discovers I’ve been passing out business cards claiming to be a private investigator instead of an accounting clerk at Warner and Sons Investigations, he blackmails me into cooking his expense account. But he’s not the only one capable of blackmail. If I’m going to help keep his sorry butt from getting fired by his own brother and father then he’s going to let me assist with a case of infidelity.
Ray Dixon is suspected of cheating on his fiance, Carol, who, coincidentally, works at the senior’s home where my grandfather lives. Jack and I split the surveillance duties, only problem is he isn’t much of a worker and I find myself taking on the entire case. I quickly discover there is another woman. I haven’t found her name, yet, but I have figured out where she works. I need proof - preferably photos of the two in some clandestine encounter. Only then can I consider the case a success and possibly move out of the accounting department and into a real private investigator’s role with the company.
There’s also a small detail about a missing woman. In one of my finer moments, I created another alternate job description, journalist. Now, getting close to Ray under the guise of working on the story of a woman gone missing two years ago, has created some suspicions. Not the least is the cops, who’ve been questioning Jack about his relationship with me, the journalist.
Shakespeare comes to mind. Something about a web and deceit. And I may be tangled in more than my share of silky thread.

Last clue was 'Chewing Over' (10 letters) and the answer was 'Reflecting' - I know, bad. Good luck this week - remember to leave your guess in the comment section. Enjoy :)

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Part 17 ~ Washington could not tell any (4 Letters) ~

I was hoping Ray was having a normal morning since I was at my desk shuffling the pile of paperwork that had grown by reams and trying to get some answers to important questions. I planned to use the company’s weight to get a read on the mystery woman’s license plate. And re-establish myself in my real role at the agency. After Hot Dick’s suggestion that I would be without a job, I needed to prove my worth. I couldn’t lose this job. Could. Not.

I rubbed my temples, the headache I had nursed since waking pounding in both frontal lobes. What a mess I had created! First with my fake business card in order to please Gramps and then thinking I could work two jobs in order to finally play private eye. Not to mention almost a week on the case and I didn’t have any proof of Ray Dixon’s infidelity other than a gut feeling that he wasn’t cheating on Carol.

The computer beeped at me. I lifted my head to see that the car driven by the mystery woman was licensed to the Department of Mental Health. Dead end! Charlie’s Angels never ran into this kind of problem when they were solving crime. Everything just dropped in their laps.

And if it didn’t?

I straightened my shoulders. They got creative.

I spent a half an hour on the computer then I closed my office door, pulled out my cell phone and channelled Sabrina Duncan, my favorite Angel.

"Hello. I’m not sure whom I should be talking to, but yesterday a young lady was at the Institution on Glenam."

I scribbled in my notebook as the receptionist supplied the name of the Home.

"Yes, that’s the one. I’ve seen her there before on many occasions, I live just down the street, so I thought she might work for you. I have the plate number for her car."

I rattled off the number and was promptly put on hold. Not sure if that was a good thing or not. I tapped my pencil against the desk and tried to think of another way I could get mystery woman’s name without stalking her and, when given the opportunity, snatch her purse.
"Still here."

The question I had dreaded. Hopefully Mental Health had as much paperwork as I did and wouldn’t bother spending time checking the validity of my answer. "Francis Lewis, but everyone calls me Franny."

Who couldn’t be nice to a woman named Franny? The receptionist gave me the information I was looking for and offered to transfer me to her voicemail as she was out of the office. But I had pies in the oven and the beeper had just gone off, not to mention the fact I wasn’t very comfortable with modern technology and would rather talk to a person than a machine. We ended out chat with a quick discussion about which pie is better, apple or cherry.

I flipped my phone closed and raised my arms in the air.

"Apple, hands down and hallelujah!"
"Mickey?"

Crap on a stick! I hadn’t even heard the office door opening let alone Evan entering my sunless office. I lowered my arms and dropped my cell phone into my purse. "Um, yes. Evan! Good morning." How long had he been standing there?

"I prefer cherry. Was that a client?"

"No." I dropped my gaze, scanned my paper-decorated desk. "My contact at the electrical company. I haven’t got our monthly statement yet and wanted to know if it had been mailed out. Just trying to get organized after those couple of days off."

"You’re feeling better?"

"Much. Thanks." Then I remembered my surveillance coming up that afternoon. "But I have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon."

"That’s fine. Have you seen Jack this morning?"

My question would be ‘do we see Jack any morning’, but I seamed my lips shut and shook my head.

"Mickey, you’re wanted on line 2." Brenda’s voice came over the office intercom.

There was no way I was picking it up while Evan stood in that doorway, I was already unsure of how much he had heard of the last call. "Anything else?"

"No. Thanks." He left, closing the door behind him.

My shoulders slumped. Lie heaped on lie was beginning to wear me down. I picked up the phone just as Brenda repaged me. "Mickey Spencer, how may I help you?"

"Mickey? This is Gertrude Schnider."

"Gert. How are you?"

"Fine, thank you. I thought you might want to know your mystery woman’s back at The Home. Just pulled in about 5 minutes ago."

Copyright: Janet S. Corcoran 2010

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So, it's been a while, People of Blogland, tell me what you've been up to with your writing. Any news to share? Snippets to post - feel free in the comment section. And what's everyone reading - anything wonderful, something dreadful? Ooh, we need to do a beach read post!

FYI - I'm over on The Prairies having a Motivational Party - 80's style. Come on over - and don't forget to bring your big hair and your shoulder pads. I'll be the one in the corner doing that 80's chicken-like dancing: shoulders going one way, arms the other, head bobbing from side to side. Ah, good times :)

Due to Circumstances...

Remember the scene in A Christmas Carol where Bob Cratchit, Ebenezer Scrooge's faithful, yet underpaid, clerk, comes in late to work the day after Christmas? When questioned by the then converted Scrooge as to the reason for such tardiness, he replies, "Well, we were making rather merry, Sir."

Umm, yeah - what he said! I could have come home and written the next instalment of Mickey Spencer - but it would not have been very good - and I would have been cranky by the time I got it finished. So, I thought I would just put the honest answer out there - making merry - and beg your forgiveness.

The 'making merry' was a wonderful evening spent in a boathouse with good friends, a gorgeous sunset (pictures next week) and a fabulous fireworks display to celebrate Canada's birthday! And the 'making merry' had nothing to do with wine consumption as I was designated driver - just so you know!

Speaking of A Christmas Carol, it's less than six months until that magical holiday!

So, People of Blogland, my apologies. Please return next Friday when there will be the next instalment of Mickey Spencer ready for reading!

Friday Fiction - Mickey Spencer, AC ~ Part 16

Happy Friday, everyone! Friday Fiction's up! Last week's answer, which most of you got right, was indeed Blown. I've got another clue for you even though I said I wouldn't keep going - this one seemed to be waiting for me after I finished writing the instalment. As usual, leave your guess in the comment section if you want to play along.

The previous instalments to Mickey Spencer, AC can be found altogether under the heading of the same name at the top of the blog.

Enjoy :)

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Part 16 ~ Chewing on (10 Letters) ~

Four in the morning and Mickey was beyond exhausted. Because the elevator was ‘Out of Order’ again, Mickey walked up the three flights of stairs to her apartment. The deadbolt proved its ability at keeping people out of her one bedroom abode, even with endless attempts at twisting the partnering key. She inhaled deeply, pulled the key out, slid it back in carefully and made one more attempt, exhaling in a whoosh when the bolt slid open. Once inside, she locked up, dropped her purse and keys, slipped out of her shoes and leaned her forehead against the wall.

Sleep, although tempting, would have to wait. I was hungry and had a hankering for a Mickey Special accompanied by a big glass of cold milk. I slithered out of my jacket, leaving it where it fell. Next to go were the pants, pooling on the floor as I stepped out of them on my way to the kitchen. I stopped briefly to lean on the counter, removing my socks and revelling in the coolness of the worn linoleum floor against my toes. I rolled up my sleeves and washed my hands, a sudden enthusiasm for my snack giving me the energy I had lacked from midnight on.

Surveillance was a lot harder than I had ever imagined. And spending countless hours in my car with my only company being the radio and my crossword puzzle had tried my patience. Of course, my patience had been already tested and found lacking when Jack had dropped me off four blocks from my car so my cover wouldn’t be compromised.

As I spread butter over two slices of bread I could feel my anger welling up again. Not only had he left me in a neighborhood where Mr. Rogers would have felt compelled to wear kevlar under his sweater, but he had told me to forget Sammy. And forget the missing woman. And get the pictures of Ray and the mystery woman as soon as possible so he could wrap up the case. If he hadn’t sped off so fast, I would have kicked the side of his car.

The bread tore from my overzealous buttering. I put the knife down and fished in the fridge for the cheese. Not just any cheese. Plastic cheese, Gramps called it. The individual slices wrapped in thin plastic. I pulled out the milk at the same time, pouring myself a large glass and moving quickly from anger to acceptance.

Jack was right. The missing woman case was a cover. I had nothing to do with it and whatever Sammy was doing in that warehouse miles away from his usual hangout was none of my business. For all I knew, he could be a writer researching a book. Perhaps he had a twin who chose to be homeless in a different part of the city. Even a millionaire determined to discover how the other half lived.

The glass stalled halfway to my mouth. Or an undercover cop? If Sammy had been in the bar when Jack and I had first met there, he could have alerted the police. My interest in a cold case would have set off alarm bells.

I scoffed. I had been up for too many hours and my desire to be a private investigator was fueling my imagination. This wasn’t the Rockford Files. Jack was right. My job was to get tangible evidence of Ray cheating on Carol and collect the money. But if he thought I was going to let him take the credit, he better first get real and then B get lost.

"Good one, Mickey!" At least I hadn’t lost my sense of humor. I rummaged in a cupboard until I found the stashed back of ripple potato chips.

With the milk back in the fridge and a pickle jar tucked under my arm, I headed for the couch with my ‘special’ filling a plate balanced on my glass. The blanket I had left there the night before, and the night before that, got draped over my bare legs. Pickle jar open and placed on the table next to me, along with my milk. I hit the remote control.

Tonight, Rockford, a fabulous cheese and potato chip sandwich and then sleep. Tomorrow, some serious sleuthing, starting with the identity of the mystery woman and Ray’s connection to the Department of Mental Health.

Copyright: Janet S. Corcoran 2010

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Anything to report, People of Blogland? News, progress on your work-in-progress, a new book you're dying to share? Always love to see a snippet in the comment section, so feel free to tempt us with something from your own writing or a short segment from a book you're reading. And have a great Friday.

*Edit - I've linked up, as usual, with Weekend Writer's Retreat. There are some great fiction pieces over there, check them out. And I forgot to mention, I'm over on The Prairies today talking about places to write other than your 'office'.

Friday Fiction - Mickey Spencer, AC ~ Part 15

Welcome back. Last week's clue, Not Simple (11 letters), was not very "Complicated". Play along this week - leave your answer in the comment section and come back next Friday for the answer.

As a side note - these crossword clues are giving me more grief than writing the story. I apologize for this week's - it was late and I was giddy. Don't be surprised if one day you come over and find that there are no crossword clues for the instalment! I have taken "Crossword Clue Maker" off my list of possible jobs I could do!!

Anyone joining us for the first time (or those that need a refresher), all parts to Mickey's story are together under the heading tab at the top of the blog, Mickey Spencer, AC. And here we go - enjoy :)

Participant in Weekend Writer's Retreat - click here for some great links to more great fiction.

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Part 15 ~ Mickey's Cover is Nearly _____ (5 Letters)

That shut him up. I twisted in my seat, crossed my arms over my chest and just as I was about to tell him to take me back to my car, a movement at the corner of the warehouse caught my eye.
Sammy!

A ’67 Corvette does not have the roomiest of interiors. The console in the middle, made from hard plastic, makes a lousy pillow. And I am not the willowy blonde I pretend to be in my best "Mickey Spencer, Private Eye" daydreams I frequently allow myself when I’m bored out of my mind sitting at a desk all day number crunching. But somehow I managed to fold myself in two and lay across the gearshift box, my head on Hot Dick’s rock hard thigh.

And cringed.

Before he could open his mouth, I pinched his leg.

"Don’t even go there."

"Oh, but I have to Mi --"

"You don’t. See that guy over by the warehouse. Ten o’clock?"

"Pushing a shopping cart?" He slid the car back into park.

"Yep. That’s Sammy."

"The homeless guy who gave you the name of Ray’s girlfriend?"

Impressive, he had been listening to me that morning. "I know I didn’t say anything to him about you, but if he was in the bar the first night, he knows you and I were together."

"He’s a long way from 36th. Maybe it’s some other homeless guy, they all look alike."

I peeked over the dashboard then resumed my uncomfortable position, pretzled across the seats. "99% sure. Did he see me?"

"Well if he did, he probably thinks you’re a hooker and I’m your John." Jack leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head.

Mickey glanced up. "What are you doing?"

"If he’s thinking you’re servicing me, I better look like I’m enjoying it."

"Oh. My. God." I closed my eyes because I didn’t want to think of the horrible cliché I was enacting. But the intimate image of me, in Jack’s lap, had me snapping them open in a millisecond.

"What’s he doing?"

"Picking the lock on the security entrance to that warehouse. He’s doing a lot of looking around, Mickey. Very suspicious. What do you know about him?"

I filled Jack in on everything I knew about Sammy then remembered the tape recording I had of our conversation outside The Anchor. Squirming around, I hooked my foot into the straps of my purse sitting in the passenger side footwell. I pulled it toward me until I could reach it with my hand, then dragged it across the gearshift without bumping the car out of gear and trying to keep it below the dashboard sight line. I slid it between Jack’s feet.

He moaned.

"Oh, please! Sammy may be able to see you, but he can’t hear you. Can we say overacting?" I found the device, rewound it to my first and only recording, and hit play.

Twenty seconds, tops, of a conversation that really didn’t tell us anything.

"It still doesn’t answer the question as to why he’s all the way over here. Bums and vagrants usually stick to known territory and they certainly don’t have money for a cab fare cross town."

"How far do you think it is to walk?"

"Too far. He’s in."

I sat up, and blamed the sudden movement for the blood rushing to my head. Suddenly, the small interior was even smaller and I couldn’t look at Jack. My purse landed on my lap and I busied myself with stashing my tape recorder and rearranging the contents.

"Keep your head down and your hair pulled forward, just in case he’s watching from the door."

Jack put the car in gear and drove out of the parking lot, taking the long way so we wouldn’t drive past the door. I stole a final glance over my shoulder and saw Sammy pulling his cart into the warehouse.

~Copyright: Janet S. Corcoran 2010

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News today, People of Blogland? A snippet you'd like to share? Even a favorite line from a work in progress? If not, how about letting us know what you're reading and if you're enjoying it? You can even leave a line from the novel, if you wish. We're all about sharing here today :)

Friday Fiction - Mickey Spencer, AC ~ Part 14

Here we are again - ready for another instalment of Mickey Spencer, AC. The previous 13 parts can be found under Mickey Spencer, AC at the top of the blog (or click the link). And the answer to last week's clue, Gut Feelings (9 Letters), was Intuition!

If you want to play along, leave your guess to the crossword clue in the comment section. And, as always, I hope you enjoy :)

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Part 14 ~ Not simple (11 letters) ~

"Jack! You scared the crap out of me." Only now did I think of the pepper spray disguised as lipstick in my purse, the small canister clipped to my car’s visor, and the smaller container of the stuff dangling from my "#1 Granddaughter" keychain. What was the use of having all that personal safety if I didn’t use it? Of course, Jack wouldn’t be happy if I had.

Come to think of it, he didn’t look happy anyway. I should have sprayed him.

"Where are we going?"

"My car. We need to talk."

His car was parked a short distance from mine and I struggled to keep up to his long-legged stride. I had no choice but to walk-run, as he still hadn’t let go of my arm.

He opened the passenger side door and waited until I had my legs clear of the frame before slamming the door and stalking around to the driver’s side. Before I could suggest that he take a happy pill, he held up his hand, jammed the keys into the ignition and squealed out of the parking lot.

I was supposed to be following Ray. I crossed my arms over my chest and slouched in the seat. The very comfortable leather seat.

By the time Hot Dick pulled onto the freeway, I was pissed. And I wasn’t going to sit quietly any longer.

"Just what the hell are you doing? And where are we going?"

"Oh, no, Mickey. I’m asking the questions. Just exactly who did you talk to about me?"

Maybe I should have asked him if he had lost his mind. "What?"

"I just spent an hour in my office with two members of the local police department. Seems someone gave them my name in relation to the missing woman case."

He glanced over at me and when it was obvious I didn’t have a freaking clue what he was talking about, he said, "You know, the story you’re working on for your fictitious paper."

"I didn’t tell anyone. Jack, I don’t understand."

We were off the freeway and pulling into a warehouse compound. The parking lot was empty and the business looked like it had gone under years ago. Jack stopped the car, turned off the ignition, and swivelled in his seat. "The detectives wanted to know what information I had about the missing woman and why I hadn’t come to the police two years ago. They said they knew about our little chat at The Anchor two nights ago and my decision not to come forward seemed suspicious."

I racked my brain trying to remember if I had said anything to Ray the night before, sitting at the bar with Sammy. "No. I didn’t tell anyone who you were. The police came to the office? Then they know you’re a private detective?"

"Yes, and that makes them think – "

"You didn’t tell them about me, did you? That I was working on an infidelity case?" My whole cover could be blown. My first case and I wouldn’t get to finish it. I couldn’t keep lying to my grandfather.

"No. So you didn’t tell anyone?"

"I swear."

"You’ll have to phone Carol and tell her we’re unable to complete our contract. She’ll have to find herself another detective agency."

That had me sitting up straighter than an eight month old baby. "Why?"

"We’re compromised."

"You are, I’m not."

"First, if the cops are coming and asking me questions, it’s not going to be long before they haul your sweet ass downtown for interrogation. And B, whoever’s keeping watch at Ray’s will have his eye on you and your activities."

The ‘sweet ass’ comment did not go over my head, but I was too involved with the fact that Hot Dick was going to pull me from the case that I filed it away for another time. "Fine, I’ll back off on the journalist cover. But I’m still going to sit surveillance on Ray and I’m still going to catch him cheating, if he really is."

"Then you’ll lose your job." Jack crossed his arms over his chest.

I squinted at him, my best ‘tough guy, two can play that game’ face. "Does Evan know you license this car on the company tab?" I reached out and stroked the dashboard. "Can you afford to plate a ’67 ‘Vette when you, too, are out of work?"

He twisted the key and the engine roared to life. As he slid it into gear, he glanced over at me and shook his head. "You know, Mickey, I never thought of you as vindictive and manipulating."

"Funny, Jack, I always thought of you that way."

~Copyright: Janet S. Corcoran 2010

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Looking for writing news this week, People of Blogland. What have to say for yourselves? Any fiction up on your blog that you'd like to share with the community here (and I know there are some who do and I would love to help you promote it)? Does anyone have a snippet from a work in progress they'd like to share? And for the non-writers out there, what are you reading right now? If it's good, what makes it good (one reason you can't put it down).

FYI - I'm blogging over at Prairie Chicks Write Romance about all I've learned since starting this serialized story. I hope you have some time to come over and have a read - I've learned a whole bunch ;)