Friday, August 9, 2013


…It’s Friday, right?  Ever since I left the corporate world, where being aware of time was imperative, I’m never sure what time it is, let alone what day.

…Yesterday I did some good work on my latest novel. 
The working title is “The Devil You Know.”
Here’s the beginning:


            He wasn’t sure how fast he was going when he hit her, wasn’t even sure at that point if it was a “her.”  But Eddy heard the thump, felt the front fender crumpling, saw shadow-splotched light, then got blasted with the subsequent crash of a body slamming against the windshield, flying and flopping, up and over, like a broken scarecrow swallowed whole by the rain-drenched night.
            It had happened blink-fast, while Eddy reached in his lap for another swig of beer.   The impact was the only thing that slowed him down.  His legs, groin, and car seat were soaking wet.  Eddy thought blood, then thought, I’ve pissed myself, then smelled the sour odor of barley and hops clouding the air.
            It took a moment—moments being all there were—for a fierce realization to break through, and once it had, Eddy’s heart, a heart which had been a dull rag all day long, was lashed with barbwire. 
            He’d hit a person, killed someone perhaps.

            Eddy couldn’t be sure if anyone had seen it and he didn’t wait to find out.  He kept the Mustang’s speed steady, then punched the accelerator hard, as if his foot was a fist.

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