Summertime – More Reading Than Writing

 

 

The new book doesn't come together like a good plan by Hannibal Smith, but rather like the vague plans a trainee of the Colonel would make. The writing feels like I'm inventing the puzzle pieces as I go. Some fit and stay, while others are removed. The ones that fit help propel the storyline and create part of the picture. The serial killer, who had no qualms about killing her lovers before, finally meets a man she adores. She doesn't want to leave him, even though she might get caught if she stays. Meanwhile, FBI Agent Nicolas Hayes is in trouble because an old adversary is out to get him. While he’s busy trying to catch a killer and a slick opponent, his love life goes down the drain.

I try to piece together scenes that will help the heroes solve the crimes, but the warm weather keeps me from being at home. Summertime is usually meant for reading and less for writing. I love sitting in the sun with a good book and a cup of coffee. Sometimes, an unrelated story I read inspires another scene, so I keep a notebook and pen ready to write down any idea that comes to mind.

While I continue to work on the puzzle that is my work in progress, here’s an excerpt from my last published book, Dirty Work.

 

Just when you think you have found the perfect match, you may find yourself bursting into flames.

 
Excerpt

Nicolas left his hideout cautiously. There was no way of knowing how many burglars he was up against. The carpet under his bare feet was soft and warm, swallowing every sound. He had crossed the room when he became aware of a shadow at the next door, which led to the parlor, Mr. Hollander’s favorite abode. The aroma of expensive tobacco was in the air, mingling with that of leather and faintly of flowers. He noticed that there were sandy shoe traces from at least two persons on the otherwise spotless carpet. The moment he stepped beyond the threshold, a man attacked him from the right. Nicolas blocked the man’s arm, twisted it around and thrust the man face-first against the wall. The impact stunned him amid the screams of pain. He went down and lay unmoving. Nicolas let go of the man’s arm to face the second opponent, who aimed a pistol at him. Instinctively, Nicolas turned away, and the projectile passed him soundlessly. Before the shooter could pull the trigger again, Nicolas closed the gap, kicked the man in the shin, and twisted the gun out of his hand, turning his body into him. It had not yet reached the floor when the man boxed Nicolas in the kidney twice so forcefully it was both hurtful and stunning. Gasping for air, Nicolas rammed his elbow into the attacker’s midsection, gaining the advantage to turn and punch the man in the face, twice, three times, driving him backward. His side hurt, but for the moment he had his eyes on his opponent and ignored the pain. Nicolas kicked the man’s knee, triggering a groan, then kicked higher at the man’s chest. The opponent hit the wall behind him, and Nicolas was upon him, hitting him hard in the face once again. The man’s defense crumbled—he couldn’t keep up his fists. Nicolas heard a voice calling out in shock behind him. Quickly he swiveled the injured man around him so that he was a shield against yet another silent bullet. A third man had crossed the threshold into the parlor. Wide-eyed and obviously surprised by the situation, he turned tail and ran back through the living room toward the side entrance of the house.

“Fuck!” Nicolas dropped the now unconscious intruder and pursued the third gangster on bare feet. He heard glass shatter with a deafening noise, as if the living room’s mighty candelabra had hit the floor. It was the glass cabinet. The shards lay scattered across the floor, glistening in the afternoon sunlight, too broadly spread to jump over. Nicolas was lucky he came to a skittering halt before stepping into the glass. “I don’t believe this!” Nicolas put his hands on his hips, catching his breath. He heard the third man run down the hall and leave the building, shouting an order in a language Nicolas didn’t understand.

On the way back to the intruders, he tore off the power line of a floor lamp and used it to tie up the two men. Both were unresponsive, and he had his first good look at them. They were both of Asian origin, solidly built, with hair cut so short their scalps shone through, in their late twenties. The second man he had beaten had a shiny silver dart in his chest. Nicolas refrained from touching it. He searched their pockets but didn’t find a passport or a wallet. He also did not find backpacks or bags to transport stolen goods. “What were you guys up to?” he murmured as he left them behind to search the house. On the way, he grabbed a phone from the hook to call the police.

When he couldn’t find any other intruders, he fetched a pair of shoes from the bedroom, a few clothes for Jacklyn and himself, and went to open the closet. “Hey, lady, good to see you.”

Jacklyn embraced him, sighing with relief. She looked up to him with a frown. “You look… chipper.”

“What did you expect? Your badass FBI agent knows how to use his fists.”

***

For more visit my website: annraina.com

 

Comic Relief in Suspense Stories

 

When my muse came up with the proposal for the first book in the Bodyguard series, The Secretary's Bodyguard, we had no idea it would turn into an eight-book series. Why did it happen? First, we created the main characters: the bodyguard Ethan Mahoney, who is as straight, reliable, and brave as a man in this job can be; his wife Jazmin, also known as Princess; and his soulmate, who is a former police officer. Second, we needed a sidekick with less pathos, so we created Ryan Griffith. He’s much younger than Ethan and tough when necessary, but otherwise acts like a kid.A kid with pranks in his mind. Lots of pranks.

We fell in love with the characters because of the dynamic between them and their growing friendship, and we knew we couldn’t stop after one book.

Third came the secondary characters who appear occasionally but are never central to the story. Then, there are characters created for each novel.

One such character is Marcus Kesczynski, whom Ethan describes as Ryan on crystal meth without the charm. Ethan doesn’t trust or like him and certainly wouldn't trust him with his wife's life. This is exactly what happens in A Bodyguard in Bolivia.

Marcus must take Jazmin away from a bombing site, but he gets shot on the way. They make it to a CIA safe house, which is the setting I want to introduce you to.

 

Jazmin came back, and Marcus realized he’d missed her getting out. She maneuvered the SUV expertly along the red-stoned pathway up to a garage made for two. She parked in the center.

“Impressive house.” She turned the key and pulled it out. “Yours?”

Marcus had no breath left to answer and shook his head once before he turned slowly and very carefully opened the door with his left hand. In the meantime, Jazmin had run to close the gate and was back to lend a hand when he put his feet on the concrete. He lifted his head. The garden was in good order, palms and bushes cut back, and the growth of the vines was exactly the way he had described it to the gardener months before. He had invested some money in workers from the local congregation. Some had come for free, and as far as he could tell, had done more than he had asked for. The house windows were clean, the small tables and chairs on the patio freed from dust, and the plants in their pots watered.

“Key?” Jazmin pointed toward the broad, dark wooden door.

He shook his head. “No.” Step by step, they made it toward the canopy-shaded entrance. His vision blurred, and he took a deep breath before flipping the flower pot at the wall to the side. Behind it, he pressed the buttons of the security panel, and the lock snapped back to leave the door open.

“Here we go.” Marcus failed to grin. The door closed behind them, and he hastened to push the buttons on the left wall to switch off the in-house alarm.

He led her through the hall with the white fountain in its center, then to the right to one of the three bathrooms. His legs felt like jelly, and he counted the steps across the threshold and toward the next tile on the floor.

“A nice house.”

“Yeah, neo-classic Bolivian style.” He sat heavily on a white bench with white cushions and leant against the wall to his left. He heard his heart beat in his ears and his shallow breathing. This time, he knew he wouldn’t get a chance to stay conscious. Whatever had hit the back of his head, the stinging pain added to his misery.

“First aid kit? Anything useful?”

Marcus wanted to ask her so many questions. First would be how she could be so composed while being abducted and faced with a stranger who was bleeding on the white furniture in the strictly white-and-gold bathroom while her colleagues were somewhere in the shattered building. But he had no breath for words, merely indicated with a nod where she would find the medical supplies.

“Okay.” She turned around, opened the double mirror doors, and whistled through her teeth.

He wanted to laugh and couldn’t. The pain was killing him, and he was so weary.

“Did you rob a hospital?” She quickly chose what she needed and spread it out on the cupboard in easy reach. “Or have you always been a careful guy? This is nearly the equipment for a surgery room. Hey, no! Don’t you dare faint!”

“Would never…” Marcus heard his voice from afar, but a quick slap on his cheek brought him back to his senses. “Hey, I already feel shitty enough! No need to—”

“I need your help to get you out of the jacket.” She was already opening buttons to pull his right arm out of the sleeve and did the same with the holster. Both pieces fell to the ground, and he realized he couldn’t feel his right arm anymore. “I have to cut off your shirt and… This looks awful. The bullet grazed you and left a rough laceration. It’s quite deep and—”

“Oh, great. An injury of academic value.” He failed to whistle. “Isn’t that awesome?”

“You’re in shock.” She used scissors to cut the shirt and pull it away. “I’ll do this as fast as I can. Stay with me, okay?”

Marcus groaned. He was cold and miserable, and his right shoulder down to his arm was a screaming mass of agony the moment he made a move. “Saved by the beautiful assistant. What a lucky bastard I am!”

“Are you a bastard?”

“I’m the proverbial bastard like those in the movies.” He looked up at her, and his voice was raspy. “I did some shitty being-hated-for-all-my-life things that are…no, I can’t tell. I won’t tell. So don’t ask.”

“I don’t ask.” She put away the scissors.

Marcus opened his eyes wide. “You don’t? What kind of woman are you?”

“The one stanching the bleeding so you keep some blood in your bastard body.” Jazmin reached for the syringe.

“Morphine?” His eyes widened when she nodded. “No. No morphine! I’m allergic.”

“Really? That’s rare. Or were you addicted once?”

He stared at her, trying and failing to curb his anger. “What are you? A fucking mind reader?”

“What are you? Some ungrateful asshole?” Jazmin kept him down when he tried to push her hand away. “Don’t move.” She put the syringe back, huffing. “If you don’t want relief from the pain, you need to bite on something before I start.”

“Now you’re a doctor, too?”

“If you don’t want to go to a hospital, I’m all you have at the moment. So quit swearing.” She handed him a washcloth. “Bite.”

“I’ve heard that said nicer.”

Jazmin looked at him as if trying to spear him with a spoon. A very blunt spoon. Marcus knew he should keep his mouth shut.

“This comes closer and closer to some BDSM movies I watched.”

“Make fun as much as you like. But the pain’s gonna be insane.” She raised her brows. “You sure you want it that way?”

Marcus wanted to sit with her at a beach and slurp martinis. “The ungrateful asshole doesn’t deserve better.”

“The asshole is also dumb as cattle.”

He wanted to see compassion in her eyes, but the moment was over and she was back to professional mode. She reached for gauze and tweezers. “I said bite.”

Marcus pressed the washcloth between his teeth and braced for the shocking revelation of how much pain his nerves could tolerate before his body shut off and called it a day. The freaky part of his mind wanted to know if Jazmin was smiling—at least to herself—about his jokes.

****

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The Bodyguard Series

 

 

I've been writing stories all my life. Ever since I discovered books I could read, I started writing my own stories, first by hand, then on a typewriter. I was the only one in my high school class to have an electric typewriter. I remember setting it up on a normal desk and the powerful and very fast swing of the platen always moved the desk an inch over the floor. I figured it out and bought a solid desk. Problem solved. I can't tell you how many pages of my stories were typed on that sturdy typewriter. I guess my neighbors went crazy because the walls were thin and the machine was definitely loud. Unfortunately for them, I was a night worker. I spent my days at school and outdoors, and when I got home I had enough energy to sit down and write another story. I started my writing career with Star Wars fan fiction before it was even a genre. I loved Han Solo and thought his role in the movies was way too small. Next came The X-Files and the brilliant duo of Mulder/Scully. There were so many new possibilities to explore!

I made the leap to a computer and the Internet and found that there were thousands of fanfiction writers, so many people to communicate with, so many like-minded writers who just wanted to share their vision. The fanfiction genre seemed to explode when The Lord of the Rings came out. Suddenly there was an unprecedented amount of published stories. I had my share of stories and was happy to receive thoughtful reviews.

The step to writing my own stories - contemporary as well as science fiction - was only natural. After several stand-alone books, I started the Bodyguard series. Well, it wasn't meant to be a series when my muse and I came up with the first plot. When the book was finished, and we were both happy with the result, we spent a nice afternoon discussing the next story. The brainstorming didn't take long, and we overcame the fear that readers would be bored by a story with the same handful of characters. Instead, it was well received.

So let me take you back in time. Here's an excerpt from The Secretary's Bodyguard.

 

Ethan Mahoney takes his wife on an official trip to Colombia to protect the Secretary of State. Things quickly go awry, and the secretary and his entourage find themselves on the run through the jungle, all kinds of dangers included.

 

Excerpt

 

From above, Ryan called, “I was right! Must be guava!”

“He shouldn’t just pluck the fruits.” Jazmin was already on her way before Ethan could ask why. “Wait, Ryan, wait!”

Ethan took a swig of water and began opening the knots of the makeshift hammock, keeping an eye on the secretary, who, in his opinion, looked worse than the evening before.

The next moment Ryan cried out, stumbled a step back and held his arm, eyes wide with shock. Ethan watched open-mouthed as Jazmin tackled his colleague, swept his foot and nailed him on his back.

“Stay down and don’t move!” she yelled in his face.

Ryan screamed in pain, rocking upwards and throwing Jazmin off his body. She landed on her back, cursing in Spanish.

“Someone help me up here!”

Ethan was already up the steep slope and knelt beside Ryan. “What do you want me to do?”

“Keep him down! It’s a snake bite!”

Walter was there to press Ryan’s right shoulder and they both had to summon up considerable strength to hold the bodyguard on the ground.

“Ryan, let go! I need to look at it!” Jazmin tried to pry Ryan’s finger open. “Ryan!” Ryan’s face was contorted with pain. Jazmin pulled his shirt out of the pants and stuffed a piece of it in his mouth. “Bite down and don’t scream. It can be heard for miles! Ethan, please, he must let go! Knock him out if you have to, but I can’t see anything like this!”

“Ryan, loosen the grip!” Walter shouted in the young man’s face. “Now!”

It was an effort, but Ryan let go, biting hard on the cloth in his mouth.

“Great. Snake in the morning.” Jazmin frowned as she examined the wound, then she turned to fetch the first aid kit.

“Calm down,” Walter ordered. “She obviously knows what she’s doing.” He looked at Ethan. “Does she?”

Ethan bit his lip. “She wouldn’t act if she had no clue, sir. She’s not showing off.”

“I hope so.” He watched the bite mark redden and swell up. “If it’s—”

“It hurts!” Ryan pressed around the cloth in his mouth. His face had reddened. “Goddamn it hurts!”

Jazmin brought a box and opened it, evading Ryan’s long legs scratching the ground. “Keep him down. The less he moves the better.” She took a small pad with alcohol and cleaned the wound to have a closer look.

Ethan half-knelt on his colleague and had broken into a sweat. “Is it bad?”

“What’s up?” Nolan asked from behind. “Did he get bitten by something?”

“Yes, sir.” Walter kept his voice under control. “Snake.”

*

Find my work at extasybooks.com; follow me on Instagram ann_raina_author; visit my website annraina.com

 

Writing a Book Versus Readers Reading a Book

Have you ever noticed that what you write is not necessarily what readers read?

I find reviews very revealing. In For the Love of Jazmin, I thought I was writing about a strong man, a protector who would do anything for his wife, even if it meant going against his beliefs. Readers focused on the man's wife, telling me they were impressed by her strength, her perseverance, her search for a way to escape the evil drug lord and save her husband. Jazmin was seen as the strong character who didn't give up and kept her head up.

Throughout the story, I was told, she fought a silent but effective battle against her captor and won in the end.

Here's a look into the book...

 

A loving couple are kidnapped by a schizophrenic criminal who is out to play off one against the other. What must they give up to get free?

Nine years ago, Jazmin brought a Colombian drug lord to justice. His son, Raoul, finds out where she lives and kidnaps her husband, Ethan, knowing she won't refuse his invitation. As Jazmin enters Raoul's lair, she doesn't know if she can save her husband and herself, or if they will both die trying to escape the schizophrenic criminal who is determined to play one off against the other.

 

Excerpt

Raoul had refrained from showing Ethan around before, and the guests were eager to follow him down into the dungeon. Due to the mass of people standing around Raoul and talking to him, he couldn’t keep her from going to Ethan’s cell quick enough and she pretended to not have heard his command.

Jazmin held fast to the bars. “He’s much better prepared,” she told Ethan, who was already dressed to fight. The gloves hung outside the cell door. “He’ll go for you full blazes. A second knock out would ruin much of Joaquin’s reputation, so he didn’t come with second class this time.”

“You look beautiful.” He smiled at her lopsidedly while he bandaged his hands. “Hey, don’t worry too much about me. If he comes full force at me I’ll greet him the same way. I only have to think about this morning to be mad with rage.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“So tomorrow night then?”

“If I can get Raoul’s keys, yes. Please, Ethan, don’t bet your life on this. It’s just a chance, not a guarantee. If he stays away from me the whole day I can’t do anything.”

“But you’ve got a plan?”

“It’s a hazard game.” She lowered her gaze, weighed down by what he expected of her. “I’ll try everything, Ethan. But up to the moment when I open your cell it’s all... vague.”

“I’ll be here.”

Jazmin’s throat was too constricted to speak. His trust as well as his need to be finally freed broke her heart. She nodded and turned away when Pascual and Sosimo came to bring out the fighter.

Raoul suddenly grabbed her arm. “How dare you stand here? I ordered you at my side! Now come and pretend you like to be with me, or this’ll be a bad night for your pet!”

She saw Adrián standing near the row of chairs, looking at her intently, hands in his pants’ pockets. Raoul guided her through the aisle and smiled the whole time as if he already knew the outcome, not to mention that he was showing off his beautiful girlfriend all the time. Jazmin made an effort to lighten up her expression. She had gone a long way to alter Ethan’s fate.

She wouldn’t falter on the last hurdle.

****