Things Left Unsaid: Read the Prologue Free

I’ll be honest, I’m not sure how it’s already almost release day. It doesn’t quite make sense, and I’m not sure where the time went.

And yet, somehow, release day is tomorrow.

But this time, since I’m still getting over this century’s plague and about to start physical therapy for my carpal tunnel, I’m going to cut myself a break.

Rather than stress myself out even more with a live reading (because social anxiety plus reading aloud for people on the internet is stressful as fuck), I’m going to leave the prologue here for you to read at your leisure.

Fair warning, the prologue is from the perspective of the bad guy. And he is definitely a bad guy.

Prologue

Kurt

The car bumps along on the old dirt road as Ian hits yet another pothole. Elbows dig into both my sides as Jake and Kerry ricochet in their seats. I hold myself rigid, digging my feet into the floorboard to brace myself.

You’d think they’d try a little harder to keep from jabbing me. It isn’t that hard to keep control of your parts.

Staring forward at Ian and Ariella in the front seats, I seethe, wishing I could sit there. But my hips are narrower than Ariella’s, making me a better fit for this stupid seat. And it’s Ian’s stupid, tiny car, so of course, he’s driving.

And she called it, so eager as she shouted, “Shotgun!”

My eyes roll as I stare out at the trees choking the road. Yet again, I question the point of this trip.

Her words from yesterday echo in my mind. “Come on, Kurt. You know I love haunted places. And I haven’t seen Ian or Jake or Tori in so long.”

Now, she sits in front, bathed in sunlight and beaming at Ian. They laugh together, recalling old college memories. Their arms bump together on the armrest with each dip in the road.

Ariella tips her head back, laughing deeply. She covers her mouth with her hand, but when she puts her arm back on the armrest, it lands skin to skin with Ian’s.

And she barely pulls away.

Heat surges through my veins as anger burns me. I grit my teeth.

Ian swerves, hitting another pothole. Laughter fills the front seat as their arms brush again. Elbows dig into my sides. Again.

Fucking bastard’s doing it on purpose…

And suddenly, I hear her voice, really hear it, as she begged me to go on this trip. I hear the way she lingered on his name. In my mind, she rushes over the other names, not caring whether she sees them again or not.

She didn’t even try to hide it.

Who knew I’d end up with someone just like my whore of a mother.

And when she called riding shotgun, her eyes lit up brighter than the fucking sun. I watch it play out in my mind, and this time I see the soft smile on his lips, see the way he leers at her.

Fucking Ian.

Kerry sits forward, craning her neck to see the road. She leans toward me, peering out between the seats and stealing my view of Ariella’s betrayal. “Shut up, you guys,” she tells the harlot and the casanova. “It wasn’t that bad.”

But I missed what they were laughing about.

Beside me, Jake laughs at his wife. “It really was.”

She reaches over me to lightly smack his knee. Confined as we are, she hits my knee too, and I barely suppress a glare.

“Oh, sorry, Kurt,” she says. Briefly, she leans her head against my shoulder in a sorry excuse for an apology, and her long brown hair tickles my arm. “See what you guys made me do!” she shoots at Jake. “You made me smack Kurt!”

Ariella’s eyes dart upward, meeting mine in the rearview mirror. Dark eyes pulled tight with worry, she holds my gaze.

Is she afraid for Kerry?

People don’t usually hit me and get away with it.

But she doesn’t know that yet.

I hold myself in check, clenching my jaw. My hands ball up in my lap, but I cross my arms, tucking tight fists under my elbows.

Still staring at me, Kerry asks, “Are you okay?”

Ariella turns to look at me, waves of black hair spilling over the armrest. Long, silky tresses swirl over Ian’s arm, and his eyes tear away from the road for a quick glance at her. His eyes sparkle in the waning sunlight, and the corners of his lips lift into a wistful smile.

My stomach sours.

“Kurt?” Kerry prompts, stealing my attention away from the philanderer in the front seat. Her crisp blue eyes stare into mine, edged with concern.

“I’m fine,” I say, voice tight. “Just carsick. Always happens in little cars.”

She accepts my lie, but when I look forward, Ariella’s brows reach for each other, huddling in confusion. I’ve never been carsick in my life, and she knows it. I’m not that weak.

“Sorry, man,” Ian says over his shoulder. “This is a pretty bumpy road. That probably doesn’t help.”

A deep breath puffs out my chest as I stare hard at Ariella.

“Do you… need to switch seats?” she offers, but I hear her reluctance.

After all, why would she want to give up her seat next to Ian?

“Oh, no,” I answer quickly. “I’ll be fine.”

Her lips purse as she considers me, but only for an instant.

Ian taps her knee with the back of his hand, and she turns forward, not even sparing me a second thought. “We’re here,” he says.

Everyone else stares out the windows at the rickety old farmhouse and the shitty barn behind it. They gape and chatter excitedly about the murders that happened here in the early 1900s and the ghosts rumored to haunt the place.

But I stare at the lecher moving in on my woman. Blond scruff decorates his chin and his short blond hair is a mess.

Yet, she thinks she’ll leave me for him?

I shake my head.

I’ll be second to none.


Let’s just say… Kurt doesn’t handle things very well on their trip.

If you want to find out what he does, you can get your copy of Things Left Unsaid here.

It officially releases August 31st (tomorrow), but preorders are available and it’s free in Kindle Unlimited.

If you want a thriller now, you can check out Annabelle and her weaponized parasol here, also free in Kindle Unlimited.


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Wish Fulfillment…and why you probably shouldn’t write it…

Hello, all!

So, fiction is supposed to be about living different lives, looking through different eyes, sometimes at different worlds or different versions of our world, right?

Right.

There’s this tendency when writing fiction, though, where a lot of authors write themselves directly into their book. Not just bits and pieces of themselves, but their whole self in one character.

And, unless it’s fan fiction, that’s bad. For a lot of reasons.

Now, don’t get me wrong, use parts of your life, parts of yourself. have at it. I do it, all the time. I give one character my favorite color, and another drives a car like mine. One gets my anger, and another feels my guilt. Some get an experience that I’ve gone through, though I always tweak them (either amping them up or cooling them to a simmer) to make it fit the story and/or world.

Basically, you want one of your characters to have dealt with a certain bad experience from your past because you went through it, and thus understand it?

Cool. That character has a good chance of seeming genuine, because you know the emotions they would experience, to a degree (They may have a different personality, and thus may cope differently.).

But don’t also make that character look just like you, and act just like you, and think like you…and have a name that’s a thinly veiled variation of your name (or middle name).

When you’re writing for the sake of wish fulfillment, a lot of times, the story is sacrificed for the sake of…getting what you want. Things get twisted, and moved around, and massaged into place, all for the sake of getting the personal satisfaction that the author wants.

That isn’t what writing is about, necessarily. Yes, there is satisfaction in a good story, but…the story comes first. The story should always come first.

And fiction has to make sense. It has to be believable, and relatable…to more than one person.

Another problem with wish fulfillment in writing (because fuck smooth topic segues) is that it breeds a lack of diversity. If all your main characters are exactly like you…well, that’s pretty much the exact opposite of diversity.

If you always write about a short white girl because you’re a short white girl, or always write about a tall black man because you’re a tall black man…you’re not really stretching yourself. If you always write straight characters, or always write gay characters, because that’s what you are…then you’re not looking at the world through different eyes.

If you do that, over and over, your stuff is going to be boring as fuck. You don’t want that. Your readers don’t want that.

Side note…not all of your characters are going to logically be the same race/gender/sexuality as your main character. Mix that shit up. Common sense. There are a lot of different types of people.

Those differences lead to conflict and (eventual) resolution. You know, that thing that’s essential to a good story.

Anyway, back to wish fulfillment. Where was I?

Ah, yes.

The clapback…

When you write stuff that obviously falls into this category, you’ll probably get some crap for it. “Oh, he wrote about a character that looks just like him, and sounds just like him, and the character just went around hooking up with all these girls who were just hovering on the brink of being legal…God, he’s a perv…”

Do you really want that? (The backlash, not the hook up thing.)

No. No one wants their book to be mocked. We want our books to be well-received. (Perhaps even loved.)

And what if people don’t realize it’s wish fulfillment, and bash on your character? What if they call him/her boring or weak? Or worse, an over-inflated side character? It’s going to hurt. You’re going to be super attached, and get your feelings hurt, because…that’s you.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure you’re all awesome in your own way. But blatant wish fulfillment tends to…not always be well thought out. But I don’t want every book I read to have the exact same main character…

Sometimes, this beast takes the form of a super character. An idealized, perfect person, with no flaws and no problems. Which instantly loses all relatability.

And then, that brings us back to the whole…boring thing. If the character has no flaws or problems, then what’s the point of the story? They’re not struggling with any major problem.

It just becomes the tedious march toward death that we all live every single day.

And, let me tell you, I ain’t about to read four hundred pages of some perfect bitch living a perfect life.

Now, I’m not going to lie to you. I have tropes that I enjoy writing and reading. Outcasts/underdogs. Strong female leads. Battle-worn and downtrodden, but rising to the occasion. Self-sacrificing hero types (even better if they realize what they’re doing, and see the shit they bring upon themselves by always playing hero).

And, yeah, I refuse to write a damsel in distress (unless she were to rise to the occasion later on), or a slutty brat, or a stereotypical jock as my main character.

But avoiding/preferring certain tropes is different. If you like your leading ladies to be delicate, wilting-flower types, write the shit out of them!

But don’t write yourself as them.

Give them a trait or two that you possess, then make up the rest of their lives and personalities from scratch.

Get creative with it, and have some fun.

Now, I’ll step off my soap box…Lol.

So, anyway…I’m about halfway through my edit of The Gem of Meruna. At work, after building out (a.k.a. I built the amount of tires I’m supposed to build in the entire shift before the end of the shift, and thus could sit in the cafeteria), I started editing Soul Bearer.

That one will be the next release! I’m so fucking excited to get it out for you guys to read.

I’ll be doing a challenge on IG and FB (challenge set forth by World Indie Warriors) in July, wherein I’ll begin talking about the story, introducing characters, sharing a couple scenes, etc.

So, if you’re curious about my upcoming fantasy romance novel, or want writing memes (I’ve been posting a lot of those lately for some reason), follow me on IG or FB. Links below.

If you’re a fellow indie writer, check out World Indie Warriors. It’s still new, but there are a lot of plans in the works. You can participate in the July challenge with us, and, by doing so, be entered to win a box of goodies, including some signed books!

Anyway, I’ve talked your ears off (or typed your eyes out) long enough.

Keep reading. Keep writing.

Later.