Friday, April 26, 2013


"You fail only if you stop writing." ~Ray Bradbury

Here is the prologue to my manuscript, Turning Red. 


One in the morning. The ticking magnetic clock on the fridge matched the throb in Betty's head. From windowsills framing darkened glass, and from nearly every inch of counter space, a variety of plants seemed to stare at her, awaiting an explanation.

"I know, I'm not usually out this late. Anti-death penalty sit-in and then coffee with the activists. I'm really livin' it up now." She dusted a spider plant's leaf with her finger. "I promise you'll all have a drink in the morning."

Yawning, she filled a glass with water, guzzled it and then reached into her purse for her phone. Rebecca should have called.

The phone wouldn't turn on. "Battery's dead again?"

She plugged it in and checked her inbox. Rebecca had left a message: yes, she could meet Betty for lunch tomorrow.

Another call had come at quarter to ten, from her Uncle Frank. She smiled as the automated voice recited his number, something she knew by heart. She needed some of his humor after the long night of serious discussion. The moment she heard his voice, however, her chest tightened. He sounded rushed and too quiet, like he was trying to whisper. "Betty," and then a pause that lasted too long, "I think… I'm in big trouble. She's coming—oh God."

Adrenaline shaking her fingers, Betty punched in his number. She bit her lip while the phone rang.

Please, Frank, pick up.

No answer.

Probably just asleep. She's coming? Who did he mean?

She punched in his number again, chewing her fingernail while she waited.

Still no answer.

Her heart raced and a terrified sense of urgency coursed through her. If only she knew someone in Idaho who she could call to check on him. If only she lived closer. She had no one in the world if anything happened to Frank. He was more than just an uncle; he'd been her legal guardian and remained one of her best friends.

She tried his number a third time.

No answer.

Surely his ancient landline would have awakened him after three calls. Frank hated missing the phone. He always picked up. Always.

Again, she listened to his quavering voice: "Betty… I think… I'm in big trouble. She's coming—oh God." Who, Frank. Who's coming? 

Tomorrow's post - Letter X


  1. Replies
    1. Thanks for stopping by, Amy! Glad to hear I hit my mark.

  2. I agree with Amy rather chilling.


  3. She's in a tough spot, which is good for a prologue! Is the last line supposed to be part of that paragraph? The italicized bit?

    John at The Bathroom Monologues

    1. Yes, the italicized bit is part of the paragraph.

  4. Great beginning. It grabs my interest and makes me want to read more.