Hey guys. When I started this blog a few months ago, I was very excited to share the work and get input from my fans. As I began this process I was told, by a few people, that giving away such a valuable novel is not the smartest thing to do. I was also informed that many publishers do not like to see that you are blogging your work. I don’t know how true any of this is, but I intend to discover the truth and get to the bottom of what is the non -detrimental, non-career demolishing, thing to do. This book has taken me by the hair and forced me to write it. I am clamoring to share it with the world. So read what is below and let me know what you think. If I get enough interest I will add more. The cool part is the book is about 40 pages from done, so it could be on the shelves as early as fall. I hope you fall in love with these characters, they are perceptive and remarkable.
I am published through Aargus publishing, with a trilogy of Mystery Thrillers. To find out more about those see sammyshubooks.com or whoisshu.com or find me on facebook. I also have a children’s Book out also available on all of my sights as well as Aargus
Until my readership has increased a tad, I will use this blog to update you on what is going on in my life and how my writing is going. Let me know when you want more Soul Purpose.
Fortune favors the brave!
Sammy
Showing posts with label love story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love story. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Saturday, January 2, 2010
The panel slid open and a small but muscled female stood, looking decidedly impatient. Her short red hair was chopped in various strange angles, as if someone had punished her by removing its length. A hoop of metal hung above one eye, secured through the skin of her brow. Dark red lips opened in a sneer and Vic found himself recoil from the tiny angry wench.
“Vic!” she said, “It’s almost over. Where have you been?” She stopped speaking and reached out to grasp his arm, her grip was vice-like. “What’s wrong?” Her voice changed instantly from anger to concern. He realized this woman must be a servant of some kind, although the way she had initially spoken seemed to deny that. He listened as she spoke, trying to grasp what his Cage was saying. Her breath came quick and for the first time he realized that the body was completely in sink with his mind. Hallelujah!
“I don’t know,” she gasped. “I was in the elevator, feeling great. Then out of nowhere I had a panic attack. I was really scared.” Her voice was shaky, yet he still found the silky timbre soothing. “I’m feeling okay now. So you can let me go.” She shook her arm for effect and the vice like grip disappeared. “God, Joey. Been eatin’ your Wheaties? Shit!” Vic felt his fingers slide over the opposite bicep, rubbing the irritated skin.
Lord, women are so weak, he mused, amazed that such a small amount of pressure caused an unusual amount of discomfort.
“Sorry,” Joey said. She turned and linked arms, pulling him forward “Let’s eat! And, while we are shoving unholy amounts of calories down our gullets, you can tell me all about your episode.” She laughed as Vic’s arm dislodged from hers and his hand smacked hard onto her tight behind. What the hell? “Sounds like a plan, Stan.”
Stan? Wasn’t the name Joey?
“Where ya wanna sit?”
“Booth,” the Cage stated, while bouncing in front of her companion.
“Cool” the redhead, whose name he was now unsure of, said.
Cool?
A wench dressed in a somewhat more appropriate attire than the two he was forced to be with arrived and asked for the order. As he listened, Vic found himself fascinated by the way the language was simplified. He had discerned that ‘ya’ was you, and ‘coffee, coke’ was beverage. ‘Waitress’ was serving wench and ‘Stan’ was not the name of his companion. He had been correct initially. It was Joey, still an odd name for a female. He was still working with the notion that she was being punished for some ill deed. Although, what action could lead a king to order a ring placed through an eyebrow? He tried to shake his head to no avail. Maybe this woman’s name was Josephine and Joey was the shorting of it. Yes that made the most sense. GA! He was musing over such trivial matters, when the real issue was how to escape this infernal prison.
“Vic!” she said, “It’s almost over. Where have you been?” She stopped speaking and reached out to grasp his arm, her grip was vice-like. “What’s wrong?” Her voice changed instantly from anger to concern. He realized this woman must be a servant of some kind, although the way she had initially spoken seemed to deny that. He listened as she spoke, trying to grasp what his Cage was saying. Her breath came quick and for the first time he realized that the body was completely in sink with his mind. Hallelujah!
“I don’t know,” she gasped. “I was in the elevator, feeling great. Then out of nowhere I had a panic attack. I was really scared.” Her voice was shaky, yet he still found the silky timbre soothing. “I’m feeling okay now. So you can let me go.” She shook her arm for effect and the vice like grip disappeared. “God, Joey. Been eatin’ your Wheaties? Shit!” Vic felt his fingers slide over the opposite bicep, rubbing the irritated skin.
Lord, women are so weak, he mused, amazed that such a small amount of pressure caused an unusual amount of discomfort.
“Sorry,” Joey said. She turned and linked arms, pulling him forward “Let’s eat! And, while we are shoving unholy amounts of calories down our gullets, you can tell me all about your episode.” She laughed as Vic’s arm dislodged from hers and his hand smacked hard onto her tight behind. What the hell? “Sounds like a plan, Stan.”
Stan? Wasn’t the name Joey?
“Where ya wanna sit?”
“Booth,” the Cage stated, while bouncing in front of her companion.
“Cool” the redhead, whose name he was now unsure of, said.
Cool?
A wench dressed in a somewhat more appropriate attire than the two he was forced to be with arrived and asked for the order. As he listened, Vic found himself fascinated by the way the language was simplified. He had discerned that ‘ya’ was you, and ‘coffee, coke’ was beverage. ‘Waitress’ was serving wench and ‘Stan’ was not the name of his companion. He had been correct initially. It was Joey, still an odd name for a female. He was still working with the notion that she was being punished for some ill deed. Although, what action could lead a king to order a ring placed through an eyebrow? He tried to shake his head to no avail. Maybe this woman’s name was Josephine and Joey was the shorting of it. Yes that made the most sense. GA! He was musing over such trivial matters, when the real issue was how to escape this infernal prison.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
“Vic! Vic! Wake up!” the pounding on the door was loud and couldn’t be ignored. He groaned and tried to roll over. Instead he sat up and he heard himself say, “Stop banging on my door you freak!”
Freak? Why was his voice so womanly? And what was a freak?
The voice came from behind the door.
“Come on! We have, like, 25 minutes before breakfast is over. Get up! Get up! Get up!”
He looked at the white walls surrounding him, the heavy drapes, the dark wooden furniture and realized with a start that he was no longer in his bedchamber. That realization was quickly followed by dismay, then a form of terror, as he spoke again from his mouth, but without his will. “Okay. I’m coming! I’ll jump in the shower and be down in ten.”
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Victorie jumped from her bed, her feet hit the floor hard, and she sighed with relief at finding herself in her very own hotel room, wrapped in her very own body, in control of her very own voice. “I’m me! She said loudly and listened in awe to the sound of her silly feminine cadence. “ Me me me, me me, me me! She danced around her small room and spun in a wide circle. Her long blonde hair flew in her face and she laughed happily.
Catching sight of the clock she said “Shit!” Realizing that she was going to miss breakfast, she headed for the bathroom and her toothbrush.
As she began the process of pulling off her clothes and putting toothpaste on her toothbrush, she thought about her dream. The decision was easily made that it had been just that, a dream brought on by her accidental punch to the face. She had obviously been knocked unconscious and was experiencing temporary memory loss. The shower came on hot, the steam accumulating quickly. The mint of her toothpaste filled her mouth and nose, waking her senses and allowing for much clearer thought. Her brain needed to assimilate the recent dream with current reality. What happened after the punch? How had she ended up in bed? Why wasn’t she in the hospital? After all she had been hit hard enough to lose a day. Hadn’t she?
Victorie spat a mouthful of toothpaste onto the floor of the shower and watched as the water washed down the drain. Her face tipped up allowing the wonderful liquid to cascade down her face, into and out of her mouth and down her chin and then continue its descent, warming and washing as it went. Thoughts of the moment when she began her mystery blackout accosted her: being held by Billy securely, just as planned, then looking up to see Steve walking toward her maliciously as expected, the roaring of the crowd, then his fist pulling back.
She turned the water off and stepped from the shower. The steam had covered the mirror obscuring her view. She leaned forward and swiped her hand like a knife across the moisture. Her image appeared in the glass. No evidence of bruising showed on her jaw. She could still feel the cracking blow as Steve’s fist collided with her face. Yet no evidence remained. Fingers traced along the jaw line. “Weird.” Victorie smiled widely into her chocolate brown eyes, enjoying the sound of her own voice. She sauntered out of the bathroom and slipped into a pair of jeans, a powder blue top and a pair of flip-flops of the same shade. She grabbed her room key, dropped it into her purse and left the room, her stomach growling in anticipation of the feast to come.
Freak? Why was his voice so womanly? And what was a freak?
The voice came from behind the door.
“Come on! We have, like, 25 minutes before breakfast is over. Get up! Get up! Get up!”
He looked at the white walls surrounding him, the heavy drapes, the dark wooden furniture and realized with a start that he was no longer in his bedchamber. That realization was quickly followed by dismay, then a form of terror, as he spoke again from his mouth, but without his will. “Okay. I’m coming! I’ll jump in the shower and be down in ten.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Victorie jumped from her bed, her feet hit the floor hard, and she sighed with relief at finding herself in her very own hotel room, wrapped in her very own body, in control of her very own voice. “I’m me! She said loudly and listened in awe to the sound of her silly feminine cadence. “ Me me me, me me, me me! She danced around her small room and spun in a wide circle. Her long blonde hair flew in her face and she laughed happily.
Catching sight of the clock she said “Shit!” Realizing that she was going to miss breakfast, she headed for the bathroom and her toothbrush.
As she began the process of pulling off her clothes and putting toothpaste on her toothbrush, she thought about her dream. The decision was easily made that it had been just that, a dream brought on by her accidental punch to the face. She had obviously been knocked unconscious and was experiencing temporary memory loss. The shower came on hot, the steam accumulating quickly. The mint of her toothpaste filled her mouth and nose, waking her senses and allowing for much clearer thought. Her brain needed to assimilate the recent dream with current reality. What happened after the punch? How had she ended up in bed? Why wasn’t she in the hospital? After all she had been hit hard enough to lose a day. Hadn’t she?
Victorie spat a mouthful of toothpaste onto the floor of the shower and watched as the water washed down the drain. Her face tipped up allowing the wonderful liquid to cascade down her face, into and out of her mouth and down her chin and then continue its descent, warming and washing as it went. Thoughts of the moment when she began her mystery blackout accosted her: being held by Billy securely, just as planned, then looking up to see Steve walking toward her maliciously as expected, the roaring of the crowd, then his fist pulling back.
She turned the water off and stepped from the shower. The steam had covered the mirror obscuring her view. She leaned forward and swiped her hand like a knife across the moisture. Her image appeared in the glass. No evidence of bruising showed on her jaw. She could still feel the cracking blow as Steve’s fist collided with her face. Yet no evidence remained. Fingers traced along the jaw line. “Weird.” Victorie smiled widely into her chocolate brown eyes, enjoying the sound of her own voice. She sauntered out of the bathroom and slipped into a pair of jeans, a powder blue top and a pair of flip-flops of the same shade. She grabbed her room key, dropped it into her purse and left the room, her stomach growling in anticipation of the feast to come.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
To her utter and complete amazement, the blow fell hard and true as shockwaves of pain radiated across her tender jaw. Her head flew to the side as the arms holding her tightened their grip. Dazed, yet somehow still conscious, she gazed through the dark strands of hair that fell over her eyes. That’s not right, her muddled mind tried to tell her. A curtain of almost black hair, far shorter than her own blond locks, whipped away as she looked up into the bright angry eyes of her attacker. “A fair fight was never your strong suit Gregory. Why start now?” The voice that said the words was coming from her; she could feel the strong vibrato as the air left her lungs. But the voice was not hers. It was strong, deep and masculine.
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