If you’ve already read my Paranormal Romantics post (which also debuted today!), you’ll know I’m earlobe deep in unpublished books. Whether they were submitted and turned down by a publisher for any number of reasons (or sometimes no reason!), never submitted due to end of a series or change in direction in the publishing industry, or the publishing house closed, I’ve got a wealth of queries, proposals and completes that have been hiding under my desk or on my hard drive going back to the ‘80s (yes, I’m a proud ‘80s lady!). Instead of continuing to submit, I chose to jump to a new project (now totaling around 80 published titles for this ‘80s gal. And NO, I am not 80-years of age!). But lately I’ve been thinking about that bird in the hand – not because I have no new ideas, but I hate to waste a story that might be just what some reader is looking for. What’s an author to do?
Not give up!
As far as finished manuscripts related to previous series, I have three PNRs, one historical, and one romantic suspense. As far as new series, I’ve got three PNRs, eight(!) contemporary, and four YA projects. I know I can self-pub them, and will do so with some, but if I can get someone else to do the leg work (AND get some cash upfront!), why not try that first? Or should I try something brand new, like this contemporary PNR I called SMOKE AND MIRRORS. Here’s a taste:
Jasper Wilde was D.O.A.
The driver of a Grand Canyon tour bus had discovered his overturned car in the desert at daybreak. He’d been alive then, with just a whisper of a pulse and amazingly, still conscious after spending a long, cold night pinned under the wreckage of his convertible. It took the EMTs and a towing crew twenty-five minutes to separate his broken body from the twisted steel, and through it all, his eyes had been open, frantically pleading with them to save him. For a while, they thought maybe they could.
They lost him twice on the way in, his heart seizing up like a worn-out engine run dry within the crushed cage of his chest, but each time they managed to coax back a fragile beat. They got his name off the Ohio driver’s license in his blood-soaked jacket, where it was tucked in with a rubber-banded roll of cash that counted out to forty-two thousand seven hundred fifty-three dollars. And they had to wonder if that wad of money was what had him leaving Las Vegas in such a hurry in the middle of the night.
(and a bit more . . .)
Despite efforts that were heroic but ultimately futile, Jasper Wilde flat-lined four blocks from the hospital. They did what they could but there was no flicker of life to call back for that third charmed time. He was pronounced at 6:37 a.m. Lights and siren stilled just like that heartbeat, and it was all over but the paperwork by the time they pulled up at the ER.
So, imagine their surprise when Jasper Wilde’s eyes opened, and that ruined chest expanded with a sudden robust breath.
I was stunned when my publisher passed on my editor’s interest in this book. I’d been SO excited to work on it, buuuuut go figure.
What do you think? Would you read more?
Well, I know I want to read more of what you’ve been working on!
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Yeah, I would read more! What a great start to the book :-)
ReplyDeleteThanks, Iris. I thought so too. But some sure things never materialize. Maybe there's still a chance . . . to breathe life back into this one.
DeleteI would sure read more! I want to know what brought him back that last time. :) Tweeted.
ReplyDeleteIt's been so long I'd have to dig out my original notes!
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