One more snippet before final editing and publishing.

Gerald Hodges left his house at precisely 7:17pm.  He carried his giant, black, heavy duty bags for the treasure he intended to acquire tonight.  He would scope out the sidewalks and streets on his way to the first stop on his list, the municipal, for any cans he would come across.  This was not making him rich, but it kept him in spending money.  Actually, he didn't need anymore money.  He just liked getting out and performing a service, as he liked to call it.  He was recycling something that needed it, and he was performing a community beautification service, for which most people in town were grateful.
He knew a lot of residents in this small town viewed him with either suspicion or contempt, or they just tolerated him, but he didn't care.  He had his little group of old men, where he was the youngest by probably a decade, to provide him with conversation and intellectual stimulation that he had craved ever since his work in the museum.
Boston Whitley was one he particularly enjoyed.  Seth Tryton and Earl Mancoat were window dressing for the intellectual discussions that he and Boston regularly maintained when they gathered at the municipal.
All three gentlemen had been curious about his background before he had returned to Rose Creek, and he had provided them with most of the details of his varied activities...most, anyway.  They really had no idea how he had really made his money or sustained his interest in life.  Indeed, they had no idea that he really didn't need any money at all.  He was, as he liked to comment to his imaginary friend, set for life.

Finishing stages of The Book Club Murders

I am within a couple dozen pages of finishing my latest effort and getting excited about sending the rest to my editor along with the usual self editing, which never seems to find and correct all of my mistakes, i.e., typos, punctuation, grammar, and spelling.  I might post one more snippet (which doesn't reveal anything, of course), but will hopefully have this wrapped up within a month and begin my book about Brothers.  That's what I'm really excited about.

Writing the Book Club Murders has been a growing experience as I've delved into a new experience---writing a murder mystery.  So far, I'm happy with the result, but I'm always striving to get better, hopefully, it shows.

More writings

Snow was falling softly as Damien left the car and entered the muni.  There was a nice crowd in the little place so he got a diet coke from the tall drink of water behind the bar and tried to slide unnoticed over to a small table away from the one Hodges and his cronies occupied in the far corner.  Boston Whitley noticed Damien enter the bar almost immediately.

“Hey,” he said to his friends at the table.  “Junior just came in.”  The others cast their faces to where Boston was looking.

“Well, well, well.  I think it is,” said Earl Mancoat.  “I’ll bet we can expect Miss Beautiful to come in any second.”

“Probably parking the car.  Jesus, I’ll bet he makes her drive the damn car everywhere.”

“Yeah, like a little chauffeur,” Seth Tryton added sneeringly.

“It’s plain to see who the brains of that outfit is,” huffed Mancoat, as Gerald Hodges sat silent.  Mancoat continued, “I got an idea, let’s invite Junior over and we’ll pump him for information.”

Hodges perked up, “Capital idea,” he said.

Whitley rose, hobbled over to Damien’s small, high-top table.  “Junior, come on over and join us.  We’re having good “man” conversations over there, and we figure you might learn something.”  Damien, who had been watching Whitley cross the bar to his table, didn’t answer right away and frowned.

Eyebrows raised, Whitley tried again.  “What’s the matter, too much testosterone for a young buck like yourself?  Come on, have a beer, er, uh, or a diet coke, and let us know what’s happening with your investigation.”  Whitley sneaked a peak at his compatriots at the other table and winked.

Gathering momentum to rise up and join the party, Damien rose and said, “Ok,  I’ll be with you in a second.  Gotta go to the bathroom first, though.” 

Whitley smiled a wide one,  “Great, kid!  Take a piss and come on over.  I’ll bring your diet coke.”  He picked up the drink and limped back over to the old mens’ table while Damien took his time walking over to the bathroom.  He entered, waited until the gentleman ahead of him used the facilities, took out his cell phone and texted Beth that he was joining the old guys.  He finished, washed his hands out of habit and went back out to join the old guys.

As Damien sat down in a chair that had been pulled out for him by Seth Tryton, Gerald Hodges extended his hand.  Damien grasped it and was surprised by the strength of Hodges’ grip.

“So good to see you old boy,” Hodges stated in his acquired English accent.

“It’s good to see you, as well Mr. Hodges.”

“Call me Gerald, please, or better yet, Gerry.  That’s what they all call me here.”

The others chimed in.  “That’s right, Gerry,” they said in unison while staring at Damien, making him distinctly uncomfortable.  Shifting in his chair, he wondered if the little group had an ulterior motive for asking him to join them.

“So, Damien, if I may call you that, could you share any tidbits of your investigation with us?” Hodges asked.

“Actually, there isn’t much to share at this point.  As you know, the police have some persons of interest they are doing some background work on.”  He delivered the words while staring at Hodges.  The others, except for Hodges shook their heads no.  Hodges smiled a half smile and concurred.

He looked at his friends.  “I regret that I did not inform my friends I have been told I am one of those persons of interest,” he said.   His “friends” were all silent for a moment until Earl Mancoat spoke up.

“Ha, good one, Gerry.  Why would they think a harmless old guy like yourself, hell, like any of us here, could be involved in a murder?”

“He’s not joking, uh, I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”

“Mancoat, Earl,” he said forcefully.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Mancoat, but he’s not joking.  The authorities think that Gerry might know more than he’s told them so far.”

“And what do you think, Junior?”  Boston Whitley asked.

“Me?  I tend to leave the thinking up to my boss.”

“Ah yes.  The beautiful Miss Reddy,” Hodges said.  “Speaking of whom, where is Miss Reddy tonight?”  Damien, who hadn’t planned to be sitting with the gang of oldsters and be subjected to questions, squirmed in his chair a little trying to come up with a plausible answer.  The old guys noticed his discomfiture and leaned forward to put a little more pressure on him.

Update on The Book Club Murders

I have been writing fairly regularly lately, between 750 to 1500 words per morning and am on target to finish the book by The end of March if I keep up this pace.   Gaps in my outline have been filled in and I am eager to write those parts of the book.

Rewriting and improving (in my view) some of my previously posted sections has occupied about a quarter of my writing time.  Generally I have been pleased with the direction of the story, but am most happy with development of the Gerald Hodges character.  Hodges has a smattering of OCD and Aspergers Syndrome, something that I became familiar with in my work as a Speech/Language Pathologist.

To my visitors, please feel free to comment and make suggestions to any sections of my writings posted on this blog.  I welcome any constructive criticisms or suggestions.

Book sale

I just wanted people to know that beginning November 26,2013, one of my Kindle books, Cassandra's Moon, will be on sale for  99 cents.  The sale will last until Dcember 2, 2013.  Thank you to everyone.

New writings from "The Book Club Murders"

Gerald Hodges's alarm blew-up at 6:15 am.  Not exactly blew-up, but made the sound of a building being ignited and imploded.  He loved waking up to the glorious noise of an explosion and the resulting crumbling and rumbling of a building being destroyed.  It sent him into an ecstatic, exuberant welcoming of the day ahead.

  Today he would be visited by a cadre of law enforcement personnel that would interview him, pick his considerable brain, and possibly even try to implicate him in the murder of Laura Walters.  He looked forward to the encounter.

After the three s's, shit, shower, and shave, Gerald dressed himself in the clothing he had laid out the night before when first informed that he would be visited by the "dynamic" team of investigators assembled by the local powers.  He had chosen a purple, long-sleeved shirt, cream colored, pleated khakis, tan dress socks, brown, suede loafers, and a tan sports coat with elbow patches.  God he loved his elbow patches.  He had even considered use of an accessory, the long, black pipe his father had smoked, but he didn't really care for the smell of smoke so he rejected the idea, although it was a difficult decision.  His father's well-used shiny, black pipe had been so elegant.  It had a large bowl and a perfectly smooth airway from the draft bowl to the end of the mouthpiece.  He could just see his father smoking that pipe in the evening, blowing smoke rings into the air and piercing them with the back scratcher that he carried with him in the evening.  Gerald could spend hours watching his father smoke that lovely pipe, enthralled with the entire process of smoking from beginning to end.

The only bad part of the experience was that he eventually realized he was allergic to the smoke, and try as he might, he could not overcome his abhorrence of ingesting it into his lungs. He considered a hat, but thought that a little too pretentious, and then a tie, yes, a bow tie.  He had a plethora to choose from.

He rushed to the bottom drawer of his dresser where they were kept.  Pulling out several at a time, he finally decided on the darker purple that he would have to tie himself.  The process of assembling a knot for his bow ties fascinated him.  First, he placed the bow tie around his neck, situating it so that the longer end was precisely two inches below the other, then cross the longer end over the shorter.  He would then bring the longer end up and under the loop  and double the shorter end over itself to form the front base loop of the bow tie.  He would then loop the longer end over the center of the loop just formed.  Holding everything in place, double the longer end back on itself and poke it through the loop behind the bow tie.  He would then adjust the bow tie by tugging at the ends of it and straightening the center knot until it was perfect.   It had to be perfect.

He straightened it as he watched himself carefully in the mirror.  He smiled at the vision he presented.  Walking gracefully to the kitchen table, he seated himself in a straight-backed chair and waited for his guests with a hot cup of tea resting between his palms.

Hodges did not have to wait long, for he had timed everything to the minute.  Of course the only event that could have spoiled his timing was an early or late arrival of his guests.  That didn't happen.  He smiled and rose from his chair when he heard the doorbell ring.

Derrick Hansen was the first to be cheerily met, then Chief Rue Shanahan, and lastly Sheriff Cooper Lewis and Deputy Dolheski.  Each was given a hearty handshake by Hodges and a so glad to see you greeting.  He then showed them into his abode, and sat each one into a specific chair he had decided upon earlier.

"Mr. Hodges," Hansen began, "First off, we'd like to apologize for not interviewing you earlier in the process, but-."

Interrupting, Hodges said, "No need to apologize, my boy.  I'm just an old garbage collector who doesn't get noticed much around the community."

Rue Shanahan seized the opportunity to speak.  "Mr. Hodges, we understand that you have some information that could help us solve this case rather quickly.  We'd like you to begin with the day Laura Walters was murdered and tell us what you had told Beth Reddy and Mr. George.  And if you have remembered any further details of that or previous days we would be very interested."

"Ah yes.  The pretty, young Ms. Reddy and the gentlemen with two first names."  He tugged at his bow tie a little.  "I remember them well.  Charming couple, wouldn't you say?"  The men collectively nodded, as did Lisa Dolcheski.  Gerald Hodges proceeded to relate the entire story he had told to Beth and Damien.  The four law enforcement personnel hung on every word.  Shanahan was recording the story with Hodges permission.

When he had finished, Sheriff Lewis asked, "How do you know so much about the book club and the women that meet?"

"Well, Sheriff Lewis, I am not acquainted with each woman who has attended the meetings, but they have been holding regular conferences at Ms. Walters' home for several years now.  During my wanderings around town, seeking garbage for resale you understand, I have become familiar with faces and vehicles that are different from the norm in Rose Creek.  Surely, you can understand that?"

Lewis graciously countered, "Of course we can, Mr. Hodges.  I like to think of myself as a phenomenal observer of people, myself."

Hodges was delighted with Lewis and hurriedly said, "Yes, in your profession you must have that bent to you.  I respect that."

Derrick Hansen asked, "Do you ever attach names to the women you have observed at the book club meetings?"

Hodges sat back and appeared to be puzzled by the question.  "I just don't know how I could ever know any of their names, unless I overheard them as they entered or departed, but I have heard a few first names, and I didn't tell Ms. Reddy this, but I did recognize her as one of the book club members when she interviewed me earlier with her Mr. George.  She is quite beautiful and hard to... not notice."  Again, the men nodded.  Dolcheski maintained a masked expression on her face.

"Earlier in the day you had noticed Ms. Pieson's car in town," Cooper Lewis stated.

"So that is her name.  Bravo!  You have tracked her down quickly.  I am impressed with your marvelous detective abilities, gentlemen," and lady, he added.

A visit to the municipal (from the Book Club Murders)

Beth parked the car as close as she could to the front door of the municipal liquor store.  It was cold and she didn't want to experience the frigid air for any longer than she had to.  They exited the car and Damien followed her through the front door of the muni.  A blast of warm air greeted them as they entered the building and strolled to the bar and deposited themselves on a couple of stools.  Damien rubbed his hands together like he was trying to start a fire to keep warm.
A tall, beanpole of a man behind the bar quickly came over and asked what they needed.
They both ordered a non-caffeinated coke.  When Damien got his wallet out to pay, Beth stopped him.
"I've got this," she said.  Damien smiled as he returned his wallet to his back pocket.  The bar tender brought the drinks and scooped up the cash.  He returned about a minute later with the change.
"Say, what can you tell us about the murder last night?" Beth began.
"Are you the police?"
"Uh, no.  We're private investigators hired by friends of Laura," Damien answered.
The beanpole cocked his head a little and then said, "I guess it can't hurt.  I don't know much though, just what I hear in the bar."
"So tell us what you've heard," Beth said politely.
"Like I said.  It's not much.  People stop in, ask questions, say things.  They're all searching for answers, like you two.  I keep my ears open, but everything I've heard is just all speculation.  The people that stop in here tend to think it's the old guy that goes around collecting cans.  He's out and about all hours of the day and night, always peeping in windows, doorways.  He rummages in our trash and picks out all the cans.  We do our own recycling here and tell him to get the hell away whenever we catch him, but sometimes he's able to sneak in, get what he wants, and sneak out.  It's hard to watch for him all the time.  Besides, we don't make much off the stuff anyway.  At least somebody can crank out a living and clean up the environment at the same time, I guess."
"What do you think?" Damian asked.
"You mean about who did it?
"Yeah," Damien answered.
"Well I don't think it was the old guy.  He's just a harmless old man.  Anyway, I didn't even mention him to the police, but I imagine someone else has by now.  I really have no idea, probably an outsider."
"Did you know Laura?"
"She stopped in here every Tuesday night after work I guess.  She and a couple of other women would come in and always sit at that corner table right over there."  He pointed to a hightop, round table big enough for five or six people to sit around comfortably.  Damien gazed toward the table, observing three, older men dressed in parkas and wool stocking caps drinking Guinness Stouts.  They were talking quietly and nodding toward Beth.  They stopped looking and busied themselves when they noticed Damien watching them.
"Think they know anything?" Damien asked the bar tender.
The bar tender looked in the direction of the old men at the corner table.  "You mean them?"
"Yeah."
"I doubt it, but you never know."
Beth said, "Let's find out."  Damien admired this woman so much.  She was smart, confident, and strong.  She got up with Damien following and walked over to the three old guys who were trying mightily not to notice the two as they were approaching.
Beth stood with her hands on the back of the only empty chair around the table with Damien beside her.  The three old guys looked over at the same time.
"Do you mind if we join you?" Beth asked.
"Looks like you'll need another chair for Junior," said Earl, the oldest of the three.  The other two chuckled.  Damian grimaced a little, but swung around to the adjoining table and slid a chair next to Beth's.  They both sat down.
"Could I buy you a drink, Miss?"
"You could, but I won't be needing one, sir."  They introduced themselves and began asking questions.  The old guys didn't appear to know anything about the murder, but came alive when the questioning came around to Gerald Hodges.