tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6824896765631412903.post420619105444517512..comments2023-09-05T12:51:25.656-05:00Comments on edittorrent: Same plot, different openingsEdittorrenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295505709568570553noreply@blogger.comBlogger8125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6824896765631412903.post-76456371800633742352008-01-17T23:25:00.000-06:002008-01-17T23:25:00.000-06:00That latest seems more like a chicklitty detective...That latest seems more like a chicklitty detective-- not cozy. :)<BR/><BR/>One point:<BR/>“This is Detective Allen with Homicide South. Are you Sarah Starchild?”<BR/><BR/>There were a lot of things Sarah didn’t like in this world, but being rousted from a deep sleep was near to the top of her list. Her neighbor’s yapping Yorkie, which she could now hear through their communal wall, ran a close second.<BR/>--<BR/>This seems a bit non sequiturish-- that is, he's just told her he's a homicide cop, and she's a couple steps behind, mad that the phone rang. I'd suggest moving that second paragraph to BEFORE he speaks-- the phone wakes her up, she thinks how much she hates being awakened, he tells her he's a homicide cop-- consider how she'd respond to that "homicide"-- "Did I kill someone?" maybe? That is, that seems to beg a very particular response. What do you think?<BR/>AliciaEdittorrenthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14295505709568570553noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6824896765631412903.post-82152087915384205372008-01-17T14:13:00.000-06:002008-01-17T14:13:00.000-06:00Twelve noon was the middle of Sarah Starchild’s ni...Twelve noon was the middle of Sarah Starchild’s night. So it was no wonder, that when her bedside phone rang at seventeen minutes after, she chose to ignore it. But even putting both of her pillows over her head didn’t silence its incessant clamor.<BR/><BR/>Sarah gave up. Fumbling for the receiver, she pressed it to her ear, then scrubbed at her face with the back of her hand. “…..’allo?” <BR/><BR/>“This is Detective Allen with Homicide South. Are you Sarah Starchild?”<BR/><BR/>There were a lot of things Sarah didn’t like in this world, but being rousted from a deep sleep was near to the top of her list. Her neighbor’s yapping Yorkie, which she could now hear through their communal wall, ran a close second.<BR/><BR/>“So you say…” Sarah said, suppressing a yawn, along with her growing irritation. “And I’m not admitting to being anybody until I know for certain to whom I’m speaking.”<BR/><BR/>The protracted pause, on the other end of the line, stretched into long seconds. Sarah was about to hang up when the caller said, “Look, Miss Starchild, if you doubt my veracity, you can call the station. Ask for Toby Allen. They’ll connect you to my desk.”<BR/><BR/>“S’ok… I believe you...” Sarah pulled the sheet up to her chin. She wanted nothing more, than to roll right over, and sleep till the crack of dusk. “Just tell me what you want, so I can get back to bed.”<BR/><BR/>“I’m calling about your Uncle. Walter War—”<BR/><BR/>“My Uncle Walter? I don’t have an Uncle Walter. Are you sure you’ve got the right number?”<BR/><BR/>“Walter Wargacki? Resided at one-one-two-seven Riverside Drive?” His voice, deep and throaty, held an edge of practiced patience. “Your number was in his cell. He’d flagged you as a niece.”<BR/><BR/>Walter Wargacki? Uncle Wally? Sarah was now fully awake. Scooting up in bed, she leaned back against the headboard, thinking how she’d gladly trade her latest implants for a large cup of hot Starbucks right about now.<BR/> <BR/>“Mr. Wargacki isn’t my uncle. He’s my client.”<BR/><BR/>“Were you his therapist?”<BR/><BR/>Alerted by his continued use of the past tense, Sarah was suddenly cautious. “Why? Has something happened to him?”<BR/><BR/>“His body was found this morning. Floating in the Hudson.”<BR/><BR/>“While I’m awfully sorry to hear that, I’m afraid I can’t be of any help to you, Detective.”<BR/><BR/>“I’m sure you’re aware, that client confidentially is no longer extant, once a patient becomes deceased. Court orders take time, Ms. Starchild, but the department can, and will, get one. Or, you can share what you know and assist us in resolving this case.” He waited a beat, before adding, “bottom line…it’s your choice.”<BR/><BR/>Sarah swallowed hard. Who cared what he thought? The truth would come out eventually. Why not just admit it now? “You’re mistaken, Detective Allen. I’m not Walter’s thearpist.. I’m his dominatrix.”smoothseashttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14091943103358988385noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6824896765631412903.post-68104181601732676382008-01-17T14:02:00.000-06:002008-01-17T14:02:00.000-06:00Thanks, Theresa, for the kudos…A cozy mystery, you...Thanks, Theresa, for the kudos…<BR/><BR/>A cozy mystery, you ask? A cozy, romantic, mystery, maybe. I didn’t give it any thought before starting, actually. I just took the premise, and ran.<BR/><BR/>Is it ok to submit two?<BR/><BR/>Late last night, when I couldn’t sleep, I sat at my computer and wrote another. I didn’t target this time, either. I just let the words come. Below is my pre-dawn effort.<BR/><BR/>Thanks again,<BR/>Linda in St. Petersburg, where it’s almost cool enough to warrant breaking out the smudge pots.<BR/><BR/>p. s. What an exercise in fun, Ladies. Could we possibly do it again?smoothseashttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14091943103358988385noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6824896765631412903.post-50630658962749435382008-01-16T22:34:00.000-06:002008-01-16T22:34:00.000-06:00Wow, talk about ending on a cliffhanger. Smoothsea...Wow, talk about ending on a cliffhanger. Smoothseas, you've done a really nice job with your...cozy mystery! (Did I get it right?)<BR/><BR/>TheresaEdittorrenthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14295505709568570553noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6824896765631412903.post-14536555109904213712008-01-16T18:54:00.000-06:002008-01-16T18:54:00.000-06:00Sarah Staniec hated the smell of carnations. Thei...Sarah Staniec hated the smell of carnations. Their heady scent assaulted her as she waited in the empty reception parlor of Rest Haven Memorial Garden. Sarah’s stomach revolted. Whether it was the fragrance of the flowers or the recent bouts of morning sickness, she needed to find the loo. Now.<BR/><BR/>But the front desk was unattended, and there was no one around to ask. Sarah closed her eyes and focused. She took one deep, steadying breath. Then another, concentrating hard on the relaxation techniques she’d learned from her midwife. Eventually the dizziness passed and she was able to think more clearly.<BR/> <BR/>Her late, great Uncle Al had been the proverbial black sheep of the family. She’d never really known her father’s oldest brother. She only knew of him, from the stories and anecdotes retold at all the family gatherings. Some had been humorous. And others, admittedly, shocking.<BR/><BR/>Conversely, he hadn’t known her either. So, why had he named her executor of his estate? A very vast estate, at that. Literally worth millions, if any credence was to be placed in family rumor. But for now, that was still speculation; his will was yet to be read.<BR/><BR/>Sarah tapped her foot, then checked her watch. She wanted this over and done with, to catch the first flight back across the pond. Just as she was about to go search out a staff member, a tall, white-haired gentleman, in a dignified suit, approached.<BR/> <BR/>He gave a small, sympathetic nod, and offered Sarah his hand, covering both of hers with his. “Do you represent the Staniec family?”<BR/><BR/>“Yes, I’m Sarah. I’m his niece.”<BR/><BR/>“We’re about to start the preparations. If you’d like to view the body, please come with me.”<BR/><BR/>Sarah nodded her head.<BR/><BR/>She followed him down a long hall, then down a steep flight of stairs and into the basement. Down here, the lighting was stark, not muted; and the smell of formaldehyde replaced the scent of funeral sprays.<BR/><BR/>He opened a door, then stepped back, allowing her to precede him into the room. A body lay on a steel gurney, a white cloth draped over the corpse. Sarah steeled herself. Of course, she’d seen dead people before. But never like this.<BR/><BR/>“I’d like to offer my personal condolences on the loss of your Uncle Walter,” the man said, preparing to pull back the sheet. “I knew Wally well. We belonged to the same fraternal organization. We were lodge brothers for years.”<BR/><BR/>“But my uncle’s name was Albert. There must be some mistake.”smoothseashttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14091943103358988385noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6824896765631412903.post-54799782966423327112008-01-16T18:52:00.000-06:002008-01-16T18:52:00.000-06:00So... I'd guess the first example is maybe romanti...So... I'd guess the first example is maybe romantic suspense?<BR/><BR/>Second is comedy, but maybe kind of chick-lit comic romance?<BR/><BR/>What do you all say?<BR/><BR/>AliciaEdittorrenthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14295505709568570553noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6824896765631412903.post-80583109478657517522008-01-16T15:08:00.000-06:002008-01-16T15:08:00.000-06:00Through some perverse quirk the middle finger of U...Through some perverse quirk the middle finger of Uncle Wally's left hand refused to curve while the remaining fingers refuse to straighten. Had he been flipping someone off at the moment of his death? Sarah wouldn't have been surprised, the old crank.<BR/><BR/>"Do you know the deceased?" The police officer who asked stood on the other side of Uncle Wally's drawer in the morgue.<BR/><BR/>He was a sexy man, to die for, really. His brown hair would feel like velour under her fingers. Sally knew because she'd once had a boyfriend with the same short haircut. The officer's eyes, like milk chocolate left on the dashboard until it reached the perfect level of softness offered his condolences. There was no ring on his finger. Sarah would have done something about that even in the morgue on the other side of poor Uncle Wally's body if Aunt Sue hadn't walked in right then.<BR/><BR/>Oh boy. If Aunt Sue saw the state of Uncle Wally's hands they'd never hear the end of it. Sarah slapped a hand over his and pivoted toward her aunt.<BR/><BR/>"Nope. Never saw him a day in my life. Wrong body, Aunt Sue. Better not look. It's grizzly. In fact, I'll meet you out in the car as soon as I've had a word with the police."Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6824896765631412903.post-23572214202785687832008-01-16T08:57:00.000-06:002008-01-16T08:57:00.000-06:00Sarah Smith gasped and turned around after walking...Sarah Smith gasped and turned around after walking in Uncle Wally’s house and finding him face-down on the floor with a knife in his back. Before stepping over the thresh hold, the screen-door off the back porch slammed and she ran out the front in time to see her own father sprint around the side of the house and into the next yard.<BR/><BR/>Running in the opposite direction, she dug for her cell phone and ran into John Johnson, ex-high school jock, ex-high school sweetheart, but more importantly, current police dog trainer. <BR/><BR/>He held her steady by her shoulders. “What’s the matter?”<BR/><BR/>Sarah turned and pointed at her uncle’s house, unable to say she just found him dead and thought her father was the killer. John lowered her to the sidewalk and commanded the German Sheppard to sit next to her while he went in the direction of Uncle Wally—if she could even call him that since she’d just learned of her adoption. Uncle Wally had been the only person she knew who would tell her anything of her birth parents and strange record-less adoption.Keri Fordhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03342480359177235075noreply@blogger.com