Today’s guest on The Write Stuff is dieselpunk author, Sarah Zama. Glad you could join us for #ExcerptWeek, Sarah. The floor is all yours!

GIVE IN TO THE FEELING
Excerpt
~~~

She ran into the apartment and into her bedroom. She switched the light on, let the shoes fall to the floor, took her dress off, grabbed her nightgown.

Breathing was so damned difficult. She didn’t even try to think.

She sat at her dresser and watched herself in the mirror. Her face was a mess. Kohl had melted down her cheeks though she had not realized she had been crying. She grabbed cold cream and paper tissues from the dresser and quickly cleaned her face. It was even worse without make-up. Her eyes were red-rimmed. Her face was splotchy from crying.

She jolted when she heard the door of the apartment click closed. She grabbed the powder and quickly padded it all over her face.

“Su Xie?”

Simon appeared in the mirror, standing in the doorway. Everything inside her went cold.

He paced toward her, just like the night before. She saw him grow bigger in the mirror and looked for the spirit shadows. Her skin crawled. The cold of the stockroom had chased her here, in her bedroom.

“You came up early.”

His voice was cold. Her fingers trembled.

She opened her mouth. No sound came. She forced words to form in her scrambled mind and wrestled them out of her.

“I didn’t feel well.” Just a whisper.

She realized she still had the pot and pad of powder in her hands and put them down on the dresser. She started when Simon’s hands lay on her shoulders.

“So,” he said and leaned slightly forward over her head. “Is it done?” His body weighed down on her shoulders, his shadow fell over her.

She looked at him in the mirror and saw shadows on his face. Shadows made by the lighting of the room. His face was dark, his eyes were dark. Her own face was pale with powder. She tried to speak, but her mind didn’t assist her.

Simon’s mouth thinned into a harsh line. His hands clasped her shoulders tight. “I can help you if you can’t do it yourself,” he said softly.

Her heart banged like furious fists against her ribs.

“Sometimes people just disappear and so does the problem. I can help it happen — if you can’t do it yourself.”

Simon’s face was sharp in the mirror, the black shadows had gathered under his brows now and she wasn’t at all sure she had ever seen him before. Besides, that was not her in the mirror, that white face, those big lost eyes, the quivering pale mouth.

Simon smiled and the shadows disappeared. He patted her shoulder. “I’ll pour us each a cocktail. Everything will be clearer afterward. You’ll see.” He patted her shoulder again and left.

She sat there in front the dresser unable to move. Unable to think. A void settled at the pit of her stomach, and pushed, twisted, rolled, wrangled.

She ran into the bathroom. She didn’t have much in her stomach, but she kept retching long after everything was out. Until her entire body ached. Until her every fiber shivered. Until the last inch of strength had left her. Then she sat on a stool, crossed her arms on the sink and let her head rest on them. Trying to calm her heart down. Trying to even her breath. Trying to find the strength to stand up again.

Author Sarah Zama

I was born, raised and I still live near Verona (Italy), though I worked for a time in Dublin. I started writing fantasy stories as a kid. Today I’m a bookseller who reads fantasy, history, mythology, anthropology and lots of speculative fiction. Somehow, all of this has found its way into my own dieselpunk stories.

Buy Give in to the  Feeling HERE
Email: oldshelter@yahoo.com
Blog: www.theoldshelter.com
Website: https://sarahzama.wordpress.com/

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I am honored to have been recognized by the IACM (Indie Author Crime Masters) as Best Author for Thriller, Suspense, Murder. Take a look and note all the wonderful crime authors that received awards – I am humbled to be included among them. You can watch the presentation video here http://www.carsonrenomysteryseries.com

via Humbling Writers Award — carsonrenomysteryseries.com

With all the concern about “Matthew,” I almost forgot to post this:

An interview with me about my writing and my books posted yesterday at https://donmassenzio.wordpress.com.  When you get to the site, click on Interview and there I am!  Don Massenzio is an author who blogs for and about about Indie authors, those who publish outside traditional publishers.  He give tips on writing, marketing, and publishing.  My thanks to Don for this interview!

In addition to my answering his “Twenty Questions,” the posting includes an excerpt from my middle grade novel Pairs on Ice.  I also have a chance to mention that the sequel to that novel, Pairs at Nationals, will be out in December.   I hope to publish an excerpt when the date gets closer.

Here’s my answer to two of his questions:

Q13) How many books have you written? Which is your favorite?

I’ve written six.  My favorite is my last book, Pairs on Ice.  I love my characters, the ice skating setting, and the storylines. Jamie, Matt, Cam, Linda––they’ve become my friends.   Although . . .  I can say the same for my stories in Young Patriots, too. I still love Hannah in “Just Like a Minuteman,” William in “William’s War,” and Nathaniel in “New Day in Savannah.”  I like to think about what happens to them next.

Q14) Do you have any suggestions to help us become better writers? If so, what are they?

Number one is to read a lot.  Second, when you’ve written something, read it out loud.  English has a rhythm that make it pleasing to hear.  Find that rhythm in your writing and it will flow better.  A third suggestion is to write what you love and take the time to learn about it.

http://www.amazon.com/author/elizabethvollstadt

http://www.elizabethvollstadt.blogspot.com

Doug Little, Me, and  Captain Jeanne Bell, Aboard the Naiad

The saddest of goodbyes are the ones we don’t get to say. Monday morning, Captain Jeanne Bell was taken from us in a sudden and completely unexpected way. In an instant, an aneurysm no one suspected existed cut short a life that made an enormous difference in our world. Jeanne touched hundreds and hundreds of people during her years aboard the Naiad, and her loss has devastated her friends, family, and most of all, her husband, Doug Little. I think everyone who knew, admired, and loved her is still in shock, not ready to accept that she has left us. I know I am.

At some point, I will write a longer post about all the things Jeanne Bell taught me, and everyone who ever took a tour on the Naiad. For now, I just want to say that Jeanne was not only my friend, but the person who first planted the idea in my head that a book about an eco-tour boat owner would be fun to write. Many of you know that she and Doug were my inspiration for Maggie and Gunn in Swamp Ghosts, and that without their love and support, things would be very different for me today. I am so thankful they came into my life when they did, and I will miss Jeanne Bell every day of the rest of it.

The St. Johns River has lost a staunch friend, and the world is a sadder place without our Captain Jeanne. Somewhere, she is watching to be sure we always remember the things she so willingly shared with us. I ask that my friends here take a moment to contemplate how much difference one person can make in the lives of others. Please hold Doug in your heart, as he makes his way through the days ahead.

Thank you!

Just wanted to let you guys know that a very dear friend of mine unexpectedly passed away yesterday, and I’m not feeling up to doing much right now. I promise I WILL get the last excerpts up for those who submitted them to us,  as soon as I can. Just give me a little time to get my head around this.

Thanks so much for your understanding.

From my award winning novel ‘Dead End’.

In this excerpt Carson and his associate Lilly Longstreet have traveled to Arkansas searching for the bad guys.  Their search has brought them to an old country store where they tangle with some ‘good ole’ boys’ from Arkansas.  Enjoy.

Lilly beat me to the front door, but I was directly behind her when she shoved it open and stepped into the Cache River Amagon Country Store.  Brushing her aside, I calmly closed it and walked up to the long counter – Lilly was right behind me.

Four men dressed in work clothes were sitting around the wood stove and sharing a bottle of Jack Daniel’s – passing it back and forth.  They looked up briefly when we entered, then went back to their conversation.  My guess was they were all drunk, or headed that way.  I saw no one else in the store until the same big bearded man stood up from behind the counter.

“Hello,” he said in a deep Arkansas accent, but with a friendly tone. “How can I help you?”

“Remember me?” I said sitting down on a stool.

He stared at me for a moment and then turned that stare toward Lilly before responding. “Yeah I do, did you ever collect that RE ward?”  The big guy wasn’t looking at me.

“Give me a beer,” Lilly said roughly before I could respond. “And one for my friend – Budweiser if you have it.”

He turned, retrieved two beers from the cooler next to the wall and sat them in front of us – unopened.  Then he put both of his big hands on the counter and resumed his stare at Lilly.

“Hey idiot,” Lilly said after picking up her beer and then sitting it back on the counter. “Ain’t you going to open these for us?”

“I think he wants to be paid first,” I smiled, pulling a dollar out of my pocket and laying it on the counter.

The big guy produced an opener from somewhere, opened our beers, picked up my dollar and disappeared back behind the counter.

“Hey,” Lilly shouted. “My name is Lilly Longstreet; do you have a message here for me?”

He reappeared and walked slowly back to where we were sitting. “You’re who?” he growled, returning his stare at her.

“I’m Lilly Longstreet.  Do you have a message…a message for me?  Someone was supposed to leave a message for me here.  Can I have it?”

“Lady…I got no message for you – sorry.” He glanced at me briefly before walking away again.

Looking up at the large Coca/Cola clock on the wall behind the counter – it read 5:15.  Turning toward Lilly, I saw her glance at the clock before looking at me.  Neither of us spoke.

After taking a large swallow from her beer, Lilly sat it down hard on the counter and shouted at the big guy again. “Where can a person get a drink of whiskey around here?”

Without being seen, he answered from wherever he was; which was somewhere behind the cash register, shotgun shells and potato chips that sat on the far end of the counter.  “Beats me lady, we don’t sell whiskey here.”

“Humph,” Lilly mumbled, before looking at me and then again at the clock.  “What do you think?” she asked taking another swallow of beer.

“I think we wait; have another beer and wait. It could be the weather or…”

“Or what?” Lilly snapped.

“A trap.  It could be a trap,” I said shaking my head. Continue reading →