Writing in the Summer

 

 

 

I’m an outdoor person. I like to be in the woods with my horse. I like to work in my garden in the summer. With so many hours spent outside, my writing comes to a complete stop. I can barely write a line, let alone a chapter. I take notes or write a paragraph that I will use later, but most of my writing is done in the spring and again in the fall when the weather is rainy, stormy, or just damn cold.

My muse and I love to sit in my garden with coffee and cookies and plan the next story, talk about characters, about the main characters and their development and the new characters and their destination.

The idea for my book Best Intentions was born on such a sunny day and written in four months to be published in April 2023. Here’s a glimpse of it.

Sea life protection is a task for the peaceful, the Earth lovers, the ones who will never turn violent... so they say.

In this eco-thriller, the killer will stop at nothing to punish the corporate executives and politicians who pollute the waters and damage the environment. FBI Agent Nicolas Hayes and his team struggle to find clues before he strikes again.

Excerpt

Matthew had never felt so miserable. Not even after a night of drinking had he felt so bad. He wanted to call out to Nicolas, wanted to know whether his friend was all right, but the tape across his mouth prohibited any sound. To increase his misery, his hands were cuffed behind his back. Probably with my own handcuffs. When his vision cleared and the pain in his head ebbed away, he sat up. He wanted to know how long he had been out cold, but he couldn’t turn his wrist far enough to look at his watch.

They were locked up in a square room that held two rows of empty metal shelves. Two sides were made of stone, two others of thick fencing. The only door was secured by a chain with a new and shiny padlock. He looked up. The fence was about ten feet high—easy for a good climber—but studded with barbed wire. Not that easy to overcome after all. Outside their prison was a large and lofty hall that held three metal cages, a rusty saw on a tripod, an assortment of boxes, tables with tools, and a row of ten oil casks. The air smelled of seawater, and when he listened closely, Matthew heard waves lapping against something. A large rolling gate in the back of the hall restricted the view. He couldn’t see any exit.

Matthew crawled to the wall to his right. He considered it a bonus that duct tape didn’t stick to his beard as well as it would have to clean-shaven skin. He placed his cheek against the rough wall and rubbed until the tape loosened and finally fell off. “Part one done,” he whispered. He went on his knees and made his way to Nicolas. “Hey, buddy, wake up. It’s way past time for you to have a look around.” He flinched upon seeing the wound on his partner’s left temple and the blood that had trickled across his cheek and chin. “They got you bad, hmm?” Nudging him was not enough, and Nicolas’s breathing was labored. Determined to help him, Matthew bent to put his lips, then his teeth around the upper edge of the duct tape where blood had kept the tape from sticking firmly to the skin. He pulled it off just as Nicolas opened his eyes. They were nose to nose for a second. Matthew spat out the tape that stuck to his lips.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Matthew said and brought distance between them.

“What does it look like?” Nicolas’s voice was raspy and weak.

“That I was about to kiss you.”

“Oh.” Nicolas looked around, his eyes still half closed. “Where are we? What happened after I passed out?”

“I can’t tell you. They clubbed me down first.” Matthew inhaled as he followed Nicolas’s gaze. “Somewhere close to the waterfront. You can smell salt in the air.”

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