BREAKING NEWS — I took a very huge and long-overdue step this morning: for the first time in my life, I sent my book to an editor 😲
I'm sure this announcement triggers a wide variety of thoughts, no doubt in the form of the 5 W's:
What took you so long?
Why did you release your other books without hiring an editor?
Where did you find this person?
When will you get it back?
Who cares?
Allow me to dignify (most of) them in respective order.
1) I'm stubborn and cheap and think I'm good enough at doing it myself.
2) See above.
3) I joined a writer's Facebook group a few months ago, and it has a whole section of resources for self-publishing authors. I checked the Editors section, read some bios, and reached out to a promising freelancer. We had a great Zoom conference, where I learned about her background and process. I gave her a sample of my writing, and she returned it with feedback to give me a sense of her style. Pleased, I decided to proceed with a full Manuscript Assessment (aka Developmental Edit aka "A big picture critique of the story's plot, themes, and character arcs").
4) I should have it back within two weeks, which will hopefully keep me on track for my March 31, 2024 launch date!
OK, I understand why my announcement might not be as momentous for you as it is for me. Perhaps you find this prospect intimidating, or dull, or pointless. I am very excited, though, and I'd like to enumerate the reasons why:
Such an act forced me to finalize my story (I could dither and finesse a chapter until my keyboard erodes to dust)
This essential part of the writing process will provide me with insights and suggestions I would never be able to do myself <---- objective fact
It frees me up to focus on the other parts of preparation for publication (Prep-lication?) -- namely, perfecting my blurb, finalizing my cover, and engineering a proper book launch (ANOTHER first for me)
I would delve into these reasons more deeply, but I think I've put you through enough for today. If you made it this far, you deserve a treat.
So, please treat yourself to this sneak preview of the second chapter of my now-with-an-editor novel, The Borrowed Daughter. (Here’s the first chapter in case you missed it). Enjoy!
The Borrowed Daughter
Chapter 2: In a Pinch
“Lemme go!” Warren clawed at the hand holding his collar. “Drop me, ya fat lunk!”
The man continued following the others, his grizzled face looking ahead, unfazed. His hand and arm were hairy and muscular, such that Warren might as well have been scraping at a dried leg of lamb. He was probably getting tired of hauling Warren along though; the boy’s legs no longer dangled, but skipped and bounced along the cobbles leading to the town hall. Warren began to pedal along, not so much because he liked where they were going, but to spare his knees any further bruising.
The men marched toward the head of the town watch. “Oy!” the leader, a bald man with a bushy beard, shouted. “Master Clark!”
Warren tried to hide his face from the graying man, but it was pointless; Master Clark could pick him out from a crowd of shadows on a moonless night. Prolly seen me more than his own kids, Warren conceded, almost smiling at the memories.
The head of the watch sauntered down the steps of the town hall. “What’s all this then?” He waved a half-eaten apple at the gathering.
“We caught this scamp,” the bald man announced, stepping aside to aim an arm at Warren, “runnin’ from the fire in the square!”
“Fire?” Clark took another bite of apple as he descended the steps. The small crowd parted to make way. “After the parade?”
“Durin’ the parade, suh,” a second man, gaunt and frowning, chimed in. “Right when the grand marshal rolled pas’. Shot a mess o’ sparks at ‘er wagon — nearly set Lady Grennett aflame!”
“And her little girl!” another man shouted.
“Wot? Oh, right, right ... ’er little girl too – all shook up!”
“That weren’t me!” Warren protested, his voice surprisingly confident. “I was just enjoyin’ the festivities like everyone else! That – the fire broke out near me, and – and I was jus’ tryin’ to snuff it out!”
“You was runnin’ away,” the second man objected, reaching for his back pocket, “and ya had this in yer han’!” He held up a burnt and broken tube.
“Tha’s not mine!” Warren insisted. “I don’t even know how to make a spark stick!”
The men began to grumble and argue, but Master Clark raised a hand. “Young Warren, son of Jasper,” he said, waving the remains of his apple. “How many times have we met like this?”
“Jus’ this way?” Warren tapped his chin. “S’first time for me, I think.”
Master Clark chuckled hollowly. “All right then.” He took one last bite of apple, then brought his face close to Warren’s as he slowly chewed. “I suppose this is the first time you’ve come to me alone.” He chucked the core aside, keeping his eyes locked on the boy. “You’ve never been able to pull off a prank on your own before. Always needed someone with more brains – and faster feet – to accomplish anything.
“So,” he continued, wiping his mouth with his hand, “who else was it helped you start that fire? Who was smart enough to make that ‘spark stick’? And who was so fast they left you behind to take all the ... credit?” His breath was warm and sweet, but no less appealing for all that.
Warren winced. His pulse filled his ears. A flicker of movement behind the church caught his eye. Of all the nerve, he thought, frowning. Runs off, then stops to watch me take the fall ...
“Uh, uh,” Warren stammered, his confidence melting away. His stout arm rose up slowly, his trembling finger sweeping toward the church.
“Who’s there?” the bald man called out.
“What’s ‘e pointin’ at?” the gaunt one shouted.
“Blasphemer!” cried the grizzled man, jerking Warren’s arm higher. “Blamin’ the church!”
Master Clark squinted across the way. A calm breeze drifted across the street. All was still. Muted voices and distant footfalls echoed from somewhere far off, growing fainter. “Shadows and wind.” Master Clark stood tall again, shaking his head as he frowned at Warren from on high. “They’re your only friends now.”
***
Each step jolted up Stella’s legs as she tried to slow herself down to a jog. She gasped and sniffled, her blood pounding in her ears. But no matter how fast she ran, she couldn’t escape the dread behind her, nor the trouble waiting for her at home just ahead.
At least Jessie’s safe, she told herself, trying to steady her breath. And Warren’s no rat – he never snitched us out before. She slowed to a walk, holding the stitch in her side.
Not that he would need to, her doubting self chimed in. Everyone knows we run together, ‘specially when it comes to mischief. A chill shimmied up her arms.
She stopped at a rain barrel to splash some water on her face. She rubbed the smoke-scratchiness from her eyes, eased the heat of shame from her cheeks. Water ran streaked down her soot-stained arms; she dunked her arms up to the elbow and swirled them around, then flapped them dry.
Something scurried over her foot. Stella jumped back, stifling a squeal. A moment later, a cat pounced from the shadows of a nearby alley. Lowering its mouth to its paws, it picked up a mouse by the tail. The creature swayed, squeaking and kicking. The cat disappeared into the alleyway again, and the streets fell silent.
Exhaling, Stella wiped her hands on her dusty pants. Her heart still thumping, she began walking home.
“Well, lookee ‘ere.”
Stella gasped, lurching back again. Before her, in the otherwise deserted street, stood two men, one lean, one fat. The fat one held a lantern beside his face. The pallid glow cast half his stubbled face in golden light, the other in total darkness. Even so, she recognized his gloating expression, and no doubt he remembered her from other scrapes. She searched her memory for his name. Dobber? Doblin? Something like that ...
The fat man sneered, his brows bunching. “Banyon,” he said to his partner, “ain’t this the one gave us a runaround town?” He leaned closer, bringing the light painfully close to Stella’s face. “The Sunter girl,” he snarled.
The lean man tilted his head, pursing his lips. “Ah, yes ... Merrick’s eldest.” He took a deep breath and let it out with a grin. “Good man. We served together in the King’s own back in the day.”
“Lovely,” the fat man grumbled. “Well, c’mon then,” he barked, seizing Stella by the wrist. “Let’s see what your old friend Merrick has to say about his darlin’ daughter stirrin’ up ‘alf the town with ‘er antics!” He began to pull Stella along toward her home. She resisted a bit, but kept her feet moving.
The lean man hurried after them. “Come now, Dobbins ... there’s no need for that,” he said, bringing his partner to a halt. He looked past the fat man to Stella. “I’m sure you’ll come along willingly, won’t you?”
Despite his nightwatch uniform, Stella had no fear of the lean man – his face was kind and patient, almost sympathetic. Banyon, was it? Must be a new one, she thought. “Yes, Mr. Banyon,” she replied, lowering her chin to play up her innocence.
“Ya bloomin’ fool!” Dobbins scolded. “She’ll bolt the minute I let ‘er go!”
Still looking past his partner, Banyon shook his head. “You wouldn’t do that, would you?” He hitched up one corner of his mouth as he wrinkled his nose.
Stella shook her head. No sense runnin’ if they know who I am, she realized. They’re going right to my parents either way.
With a harrumph, Dobbins released her wrist. She rubbed at it, gracing Banyon with a smile.
He stood up straight, raising his eyebrows at the fat man and then nodding to Stella. “All right, let’s get you home.”
As Stella began to walk, it was like she was leading them, not the other way around. Even with Dobbins puffing alongside them, Stella almost enjoyed the stroll down the road. Someone shouted from beyond the crowded rooftops to her left, but that was like another world. A few dogs barked at them from inside the darkened homes along the way, but mostly the sounds of the town gave way to the simpler whir and rustle of insects and breeze. Peace settled around Stella like a hug, and she nearly skipped along to the outskirts of the village.
It wasn’t until her humble cottage took shape in the darkness that fear stirred inside her again. Oh no, she suddenly thought, slowing her gait. What am I going to tell Mother and Father? What if they didn’t even make it home yet – if they’re still looking for me? What if Everlee refused to leave the square until they found me? They could still be wandering town, worried out of their minds –
The front door swung open, its wan light making a shadow of her Mother. “Stella!” Her arms spread wide. “You’re safe!”
A flicker of relief grew inside her, kindled by that warm tone and welcoming embrace.
“Keep movin’, eh!” Dobbins took Stella under the arm. “I’m not standin’ aroun’ here all night!”
Stella shuffled the rest of the way down the dirt road. As she got closer and closer to her home, her mind raced further and further away, searching of a good excuse for the past half-hour.
I have a girl who reads all my work. Gives me insightful and amazing feedback on everything I write. While she points out grammatical and punctuation errors, she does her bulk work helping me with the developmental part. She is outstanding. I have another girl that does my editing proofreading and line editing for me as well.
I couldn't do it without them. But even then, things slip through. I get snow blind staring at my work.
I am enjoying the first two chapters, excited for March 31st to read the rest!