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Chapter 2: McKinley Park

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*Warning: this chapter depicts a violent assault and crime scene

 

Chapter 2 

McKinley Park

By Jacqueline Thomas

Ben pulled his unmarked squad car as close to the bank of the Calumet River as he could get without sinking into the mud. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach, he knew just by the location that the Southside strangler had struck again. The press had given the animal, who was depositing the bodies of young women in abandoned industrial areas in the Southside of Chicago, the name after the fourth woman’s body was found.

Everything about the scene screamed of the killer’s handiwork from the deserted industrial location to a place where the killer’s work would be found eventually and disregarded like an old appliance illegally dumped. Large yellow curtains were erected around the body and they had brought in floodlights to help illuminate the scene. This part of the river, where it met Lake Michigan stunk of heavy metal. It was a hotbed of illegal activity, but this far down the river, was mostly deserted except for the barges that sailed in and out of the harbor.  He stepped carefully as the noise of his footsteps made a squishing sound in the muck at the bank. Ducking beneath the crime scene tape, he flashed his badge at a rookie put on patrol duty as he made his way to the makeshift yellow tent.

Ten years in and he was still shocked a the depravity of humanity. His feet sunk into the smelly mud as he pulled the curtain back and poked his head around. His partner Marty had beat him to the scene, he spotted Ben.

“It’s him again for sure.”

Marty was crouched down next to the woman who had once been vibrant and full of life, her skin was now pale and colorless, except for the mud and muck from the river bank and the bruises the killer had left on her body. All that was left was battered and brutalized shell of a human being. She had most likely been choked to death after she had been raped and then dumped like a piece of trash. Her body showed all of the hallmarks of the South Side Strangler’s handiwork.

“Does she have the brand?”

Marty handed Ben a pair of gloves as Ben came around to roll the woman to look for the killer’s signature, a brand seared into flesh. Once gloved up, both men turned her body just enough to see her left butt cheek. The sick son of a bitch branded his victims. Ben reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pen light for a little more light. Sure enough, the brand was there. It left a circular mark roughly the size of a shooter marble, from the game of marbles. It had the initials E.H.L. The detectives had searched coast to coast for anyone with a record that matched those initials, with no luck.

“Shit. We have to get this guy.” Ben said with frustration in his voice. “Do we have any idea who she is?”

“Ashley Benson, she is from Skokie. We found her i.d. next to her body. This animal left it like he was showing off his handiwork. We have notified Skokie  P.D. Her family reported her missing two days ago.”

“Well let’s get forensics in here, and pray that this asshole was sloppy this time.”

“You pray, but we both know this guy is like a fucking ghost.”

“He’s got to slip up some time and when he does we will nail his ass to the wall.”

“Well let’s hope this is the time.”

 

Ben pulled his car into his driveway a little after 11 pm. he wanted to get the image of Ashely Benson out of his head. Murders like these were ones that detectives hoped they’d only have to see once or twice in their career. He was on his fifth victim, and as much as he wanted to pretend it didn’t haunt him, it did. He glanced back at Rachel’s house and noticed her lights were still on. He was disappointed that he had once again chickened out and hadn’t asked her out. He started for his back door and then changed his direction towards her house. It was nuts to knock on her door this late, but adrenaline was starting to pump through his veins. He wasn’t going to leave her porch without asking. He crossed the street and climbed the wooden stairs up to her porch. He knocked gently on the door, as a sudden wave of panic washed over him. He had looked killers in the face but was terrified to ask Rachel out. He knew it was crazy to ask a woman out like this, at 11 pm.

He heard footsteps come towards the door as she pulled the sheer curtain back on the glass pane to see who it was. A look of concern crossed her face. She opened the door quietly.

“Ben is everything okay?”

“Yes. I am sorry to bother you so late. Were you sleeping?”

“No, I was just getting ready to head up to bed. What’s up?”

Ben hesitated, normally he was so good with women, but there was something about Rachel that made him feel an idiot.

“Would you go to dinner with me sometime?” He blurted out.

Rachel’s face softened.

“You came to my door at 11 pm to ask me out?”

“Yes, I wanted to earlier but.”

Ben shifted uncomfortably at being called out. Sensing his nervousness, Rachel put him out of his misery quickly.

“Yes, I would like to go to dinner with you sometime.”

A massive smile spread across Ben’s face.

“Great! What does your week look like?”

“The boys are going to my sisters on Thursday and then to their Dad’s this weekend so I am free on any of those nights if that works for you?”

“That’s perfect. Thursday works for me too. Thanks for answering your door. I know it’s late, sorry.”

“Goodnight Ben. I will see you on Thursday.”

Rachel shut the door quietly and Ben heard the deadbolt as he stepped off of the porch. He was glad she was using it.

 

Before Ben knew it, Thursday came around. He was spending all of his time working the South Side Strangler case. The body that had been pulled from the Calumet Riverbank was clean. No fibers, fingerprints, or semen present, even though the body should’ve continued all of the above. Ben had to talk to another grieving family, it was the part of his job that he hated the most.

Ben and Marty spent most of the day up in Skokie putting together Ashley Benson’s last day. She had gone to work, as a speech pathologist and worked all day. She stopped at the grocery store on the way home and went home and made dinner. She and her fiancé ate and he went out to the bar with some friends.

The lab had pulled her phone records and the last thing she sent at 10:46 pm. Two nights before she disappeared was a text telling her fiancé she was heading to bed and to call if he needed a ride home.

When her fiancé got home that night he slept on the couch. It was only when he woke to get ready the next morning that he noticed Ashley wasn’t home. He thought it was odd she had not made the bed but figured she must have been running late. By lunchtime that day, when he had not heard from her he began to become concerned. It wasn’t like her to not answer his calls or texts. By dinnertime, the whole family knew something wasn’t right. They reported her missing and two days later got the worst news a family could get; their beloved daughter had met a brutal end and would never be coming home again.

Ben and Marty had just finished talking to a few of Ashley’s co-workers, someone had to know something, if anyone was following her, or if Ashley had noticed something out of the ordinary. As the day finished, they were no further along in their investigation, only they now had a hunch that Ashley had been taken from her home instead of grabbed while out on the street. The three other victims had been out late at night coming home when they had been taken by the killer.

The two detectives walked to the car. It was a hot afternoon, muggy like it would storm later. As Ben opened the door he could feel the intense heat generated from the sun in the car escape. He got into the car as the leather seat scalded his back through his shirt. Marty followed suit.

“Shit it’s hot.”

“Yeah, it is, bet it storms later. Look at those clouds.”

“You know, if this asshole did take her from her house, he is getting bolder.”

“Yep bolder and taking bigger risks. He’s getting bolder and cockier, and that is how we will catch him.”

“I want to go back over to her house again. Let’s swing by on our way back.”

Ben looked at his watch, he had dinner with Rachel at seven. If they were quick but through they’d have just enough time.  Ben pulled out of the parking lot and drove past the grocery store she had shopped at the night she was taken and then on to her house. Ben pulled the car up to the front of the townhome as Marty got out and started to walk around the building. Ben walked up to the front door and past the tape. The air conditioning was on and the cool relief of dry cold air was refreshing from the muggy heat outside. He walked inside, telling himself this time to not look too hard at the scene, maybe he was trying too hard to find this animal and the clue he needed was right in front of him.

He scanned the living room. The blankets were still on the couch from where the fiancé had slept. Sure the fiancé was no angel, he had spent the night with another woman, the night Ashley went missing but, that didn’t make the man a murder. He had lied about sleeping on the couch. Ben knew that the first time he walked into the house. He had crashed enough times on the couch to know what it looked like if you truly slept there or staged it. Ben understood, the fiancé didn’t want to get caught up in his own lie. Ben continued to scan the living room when he heard a knock coming from the back of the townhouse.

Ben followed the noise into the bedroom and walked up to the window where Marty was standing outside.

“Open it.” Marty said loudly.

The window had already been dusted for prints and had came up clean. He put on gloves anyway, the last thing he wanted was a contaminated crime scene, and the killer to be let go because of tainted evidence. Ben turned the lock at the top of the window and tried to shimmy it up. It was an older wooden window. It did not open easily and creaked as it was opened. Both men looked at each other knowing that the killer had not come in that way, nor had he come in through the front door; video surveillance would’ve caught the culprit. The noise of the window opening would have woken Ashley for sure and she would’ve fled. There was no sign of a struggle in the room. Somehow the killer had gotten into the townhome.

Ben shut the window and locked it back up as Marty came back around and inside the front door, the only door. Marty walked in taking refuge in the air conditioning. Both men walked around the townhouse again.

“Does this unit have an attic?” Ben asked.

Both men started to look for an attic door in the ceiling and sure enough in the upstairs bedroom closet, there was an attic door. Booth stood under the closed door.

“I wonder if all of these units share a common attic?” Ben asked.

“Only one way to find out,” Marty replied.

Still gloved, Ben reached for the gold pull chain as the door opened silently.

“I’ve never heard an attic door open so quietly,” Marty said.

“Me either.”

A latter was just out of reach.

“Hey man give me a lift here.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“You lift me, I’m lighter.”

“Like hell you are, shut up and give me a boost.”

Marty laced his fingers together as Ben stepped a foot into them and hoisted himself up. Marty grunted under Ben’s weight. Ben looked up into the attic. It was shared by several units.

“Bingo! It’s one long attic up here.”

“I thought that was illegal, against fire code.”

“It is.”

Ben grunted and hoisted himself up into the stifling attic it. His eyes adjust to the darkness quickly. He called back down to Marty.

“Hey grab the flash light out of the car.”

“Here.”

Marty tossed the flashlight up through the hole as Ben caught it.

“I grabbed it when I got out of the car.”

“Nice.”

Ben click on the flashlight and looked around. It was clear that someone had been up there. It looked like some of the insulation had recently been replaced. He was just about ready to leave when he caught a glimpse of something shiny.

“I might have something up here!”

Ben stepped carefully towards the shiny object. He could not believe his luck, it appeared to be a large pocket knife, open, laying in a cloud of pink insulation.

“Well?” Marty called from the ground.

“Looks like someone dropped a large pocket knife up here.”

“No shit!”

“We better call forensics. Someone has definitely been up here recently.”

Ben left the knife where it lay and carefully stepped in his same tracks not to disturb the scene any further as he made his way back to the door. He lowered himself back down into the closet, once again grateful for the cold air in the townhome.

“Let’s get a list from the landlord of anyone who has done work in the building in the past year too. There is new insulation up there.”

“I hope this is the tipping point to finding this maniac.t I am sick of pulling pretty dead girls out of rivers and dumpsters.”

“Yeah me too.”

Marty walked into the hallway and called for the forensic team as Ben carefully walked around the room. Nothing was out of place. The white carpet was pristine. As he turned back towards the hallway he noticed a small spot of pink fluff on the corner of a baseboard. He crouched down to take a closer look. Marty noticed and turned.

“Insulation?”

“Yeah, that’s what it looks like to me. I bet the bastard came through another uint and got into this one through the attic.”

“Makes sense why we didn’t find an entry point. But when I was outside of her window I noticed some of the branches in the bush below her window looked crushed. I bet he came in this way and took her out the window.”

Ben thought out loud. “Someone would’ve heard that her struggling with an intruder. He would’ve had to shove her out the window first and she most likely would’ve tried to flee. That is unless she was drugged and he carried her out of the window. Maybe set her on the bush and then climbed out.”

“How was the window locked from the inside then?”

“I don’t know. I just find it unreal that no one heard anything. If someone grabbed Pauline, don’t you think someone would hear?”

“Are you kidding, half of the city would hear my wife scream. At that point, I almost feel bad for the intruder waking Pauline.”

Both men chuckled a bit.

“Exactly. She had to have been out quickly so no one heard. Maybe he killed her right away?”

“Maybe.”

“We have a match for all of the fluids in the bed, I can’t see our guy having that sort of self-control to not rape her here.”

“Unless he knew better, not to leave any physical evidence. He knew it was too risky.”

Both men walked down the stairs and stood in the foyer by the front door as the rain had arrived. It poured torrentially.

“Shit,” Marty said as he ran out of the front door back to the car. He went around the back and opened the trunk and fished out a bright blue tarp and took off for the back of the unit. Ben followed him as they did their best to gently cover the bush behind the bedroom window, hoping to preserve any physical evidence if there was any left at this point.

Soaked from covering the bush both men went inside and waited for the forensic team to arrive. Ben caught them up to speed. They set off for the attic as his phone rang on his belt. He reached down and didn’t recognize the phone number.

“Ben Carter here.”

“Ben, hi, it’s Rachel.”

“Oh shit what time is it?” Ben glanced at his watch it was 7:15. He was supposed to pick Rachel up at seven. “Rachel I am so sorry, I got caught up at work. I am leaving here soon.”

Marty looked over at him knowing that Ben would not be gone before 10:30.  He shook his head and gave Ben a sarcastic look.

“Do you want to do this another night? I don’t mind.” Rachel asked.

“No, I really want to go to dinner with you. I am in Skokie still and I will be about another hour. Is nine too late for dinner?”

“No, nine is still okay. Look if we need to reschedule, it’s okay really. I will tell you what if your plans change just give me a call and we will do this another night.”

“I will be there by nine.”

Marty shook his head again, knowing there was no way.

“Okay see you then.”

“Hey, thanks for being so understanding. Bye.”

“Bye Ben, drive carefully, it’s really coming down out there.”

And Now for Something a Little Different.. McKinley Park

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I went back and forth on whether or not to post a creative work on the blog. I even made a Twitter poll, that resulted in almost an even divide whether to post a creative work on the blog. After mulling it over I have decided that I am going to take one of my unfinished works and post a chapter a week, this will serve two purposes. The first purpose, it will allow those who may be interested in my creative writing ability to see my work and secondly, it will force me to finish this work. If you are an agent reading this, I have several completed works that I do not have any intention of sharing online, those are for publishing. I welcome constructive criticism, but if you choose to offer advice, please keep in mind that you are only seeing one chapter at a time.

Enjoy!

 

McKinley Park

By: Jacqueline Thomas

 

Chapter 1

 

“Jean did you have more potato salad? If not, I can run and grab some out of my fridge,” Laura said.
It was the annual block party for Lilac Lane. Normally Ben Carter tried to avoid these sort of gatherings. He wasn’t antisocial; this was just more of a family scene. He had never made time for the traditional set of a wife and kids; he was married to his job, a detective for the Chicago Police Department. Sure there had been women in the past, but none that had pulled him away from his true love, his work.
“Really, Laura this is more than enough.”
Ben stared down at the flimsy paper plate loaded with a small mountain of potato salad. Laura had given him more than two large servings. He knew she meant well. To Laura, being in his late thirties and single, was more of a malady than a choice. Occasionally, she’d she show up at his door with the excuse that she had made too much for one dinner or another excuse. Ben had tried his best to dissuade her, but she was sweet on him, and he knew it.
“Well if you are hungry, come get more okay?”
Ben smiled as he walked away looking for a spot to sit at one of the long tables down the middle of the street. He had made an appearance hoping to run into Rachel Lawson from across the street. She and her husband Rhett had divorced a few years ago. Ben thought that Rachel was beautiful and he felt like a teenager every time he talked to her, fumbling over his own words.
Ben found a seat next to her middle son Luke; he was six. Luke eagerly shoved a giant mouthful of jello salad into his mouth. At noticing Ben sit down next to him, Luke turned and smiled with whipped cream on his face. Ben handed Luke his napkin as the boy wiped the whipped cream off of his face.
“Mr. Carter, did you bring your gun today?” Luke asked, still chewing the jello salad.
“Not today, sport.”
“I like your gun; it’s really cool.”
“I like it too, but it isn’t a toy. It’s for grown-ups only, okay?”
“To shoot the bad guys, right?”
Ben looked up for Rachel; luckily she had joined the conversation.
“Why don’t you let Mr. Carter finish his mountain of potato salad? Besides, your brothers are waiting for you at the water gun station. You can practice wrangling bad guys there.”
Luke shot up from his seat, as Rachel gently grabbed his arm and wiped the last of the whipped cream from his face.
“Go get’em bud!” Rachel laughed.
Ben loved the sound of her laugh. She took Luke’s seat as she said it.
“Sorry about that, he is really into good guys and bad guys, as he calls it right now.”
“I was him at that age. Always on the move.”
“He’s happy, that’s all that matters to me. Hey, at the risk of getting jumped by Laura, would you like something else to eat? I mean something to go with your potato salad? I put a few burgers aside for the boys later. They probably won’t eat them.” Rachel said with a slight laugh. “No judgment though if you are really into that potato salad, though.”
“That would be great. I usually don’t come to these, I didn’t realize how hungry everyone is on this street, or I would’ve come earlier.”
Rachel laughed as her youngest son, Evan came and climbed up on her lap. He was four and looked just like Rachel. He was a quiet kid but smart.
“Sure, I’d love one.”

Rachel and Ben sat through most of the evening and talked as the block party wrapped up. Laura tried to join the conversation twice but was pulled away both times by other neighbors who wanted to chat. The rest of the time she pouted as she looked at Rachel and Ben. She wanted Ben for herself.
“Well Mr. Carter, it is getting late. I should get the boys home. It was nice to talk to you.”
“Please call me Ben, we’re neighbors. Can I help?”
“Um, sure, can you grab this chair? I will get the other one; these are mine. I also need to get my salad bowl off the buffet table. I will be right back.”
Rachel set her folding chair against the table as she walked over to the buffet. Ben was mesmerized by the way her body moved, it wasn’t overly sexy, but there was something very feminine to it that made his heart beat a little stronger when he watched her. He picked up both chairs as she came back to where he was standing. He smiled and followed her. She shouted to her boys that it was time to go in. They protested, but she held firm. She stopped just short of the steps to the front porch and turned to call again as all three boys came running up the front steps and into the house.
“They’ll leave a ring around the tub for sure tonight.” Rachel laughed.
“Ah, they’re only young once.”
“True, but I don’t feel like washing muddy footprints out of their bedsheets. It was nice to visit with you Mr. Carter; I mean Ben.”
He desperately wanted to ask her out on a date but choked at the last minute. Instead, he asked where she would like him to put her chairs.
“Just lean them against the house. I will put them away tomorrow. Good night, Ben.”
“Good night Rachel, please tell the boys I said goodbye too.”
“I will.”

Rachel walked into the house and shut the front door behind her. Ben leaned the chairs against the house. He felt like the entire street had watched their interaction. He turned to walk off the porch as he saw Laura walking his way. His phone rang at just in time to avoid having to decline a drink with her. He put the phone up to his ear and answered the phone loudly hoping it would deter Laura.
“Hello, this is Ben.”
“Hi Ben, it’s Jack. We found another one, the son of a bitch did it again.”
“Okay, I am on my way. Give me the address.”

 

 

 

To Read the next chapter click the link: https://jacquelinecthomas.com/chapter-2-mckinley-park/

Now, this is the hard part..

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When my husband and I first moved in together he was writing fiction regularly. I was a “book widow,” one who had lost their partner to the craft of creative writing. We were both working two jobs and in college. Every spare moment he had was spent writing. I was happy for him and annoyed at the same time. Then the editing process began and that took twice as much attention. Once his work was complete then came the job of querying. He queried via snail mail, this was old school, now everything is done online.

Years later I began the process myself. My first book came flying out of me, I couldn’t type fast enough. Jon was supportive and brought copious mugs of tea and coffee, and later wine. As I’ve moved on, and began other creative works, the ease of writing is not always there. I had to work at writing, sometimes it was easy and the words just flowed and other times it is work. Then there is the task of finding a decent amount of time to write, not to mention crippling doubt at times and the dreaded writer’s block. The more I began to write, the more I realized it wasn’t so easy, it is work. Writing isn’t always fun, it is having to push through those times where it doesn’t feel like it is going well, that makes it work.

I naively remember finishing the first work that I thought might be good enough to actually try and publish. Jon, said to me, that the book needed an edit like I had never edited a work before. I had the book printed at my local printer and got my red pen out to edit. Editing was difficult! I laughed at myself for thinking writing was the difficult part. I went through my book word by word with my pen, marking typos and misspellings, plot holes and pulling out things that did not belong. Once the first edit was done, I did it all over again with a different color pen to make sure that I agreed with my initial notes and edits.

With my marked-up manuscript, I sat down in front of the computer. Holy cow, if I thought writing was hard and editing was difficult, then making the corrections in the work was formidable. I once again laughed at myself thinking, you thought writing was hard, and then editing on a hard copy was rough, making the edits is the real hard part. Once I got all of the edits in, I had the book reprinted and repeated the process all over again. Finally, after two to three passes at this, I felt the book was in a solid enough spot where if I wanted to I could send it out to the world for querying.

I wrote a book doing Nano-Wri-Mo, after my husband and sister put me up to it. The work that came out of that month turned out to be strong enough to go through the editing process. I have been editing this book for well over a year. At my husband’s urging, I began to think about seriously shopping it out to agents. I dug into what it would take to find an agent, and once again laughed at myself, thinking writing and editing was the most difficult part of the process. At least with writing and editing, I was in the driver’s seat.

I began to research how to query, how to write the pitch, where to find these amazing people, literary agents with their magical ability to bring a book to market. There are a million sources to find this information, some legit and other sources were as slimy and as sleazy as they come. Researching how to query took so much time, that there was little time to actually write. Then I had to work on my pitch letter. Writing my pitch letter was one of the hardest things I have ever done.

Now I am in the process of querying my book The Lake Michigan Affair. Each time I fill out a query form or send off an email with my pitch, I literally have a wave of nausea. I have just started this process and it is nervewracking. I have received a few rejections so far and that is a strange mix of emotion too, relief, sadness and determination to keep going.

Someday, when I do get an agent and move through the next steps of the process in bringing work to market I wonder if the trend of “this is the hard part” will begin all over again. Hopefully, time will tell!

Romance Writing and Slut Shaming

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(Me Marching in the 2017 Women’s March in Chicago)

I know the title may sound a bit harsh but this is something I have wanted to write about for a while. I didn’t read my first true Romance novel until a few years ago. In fact, if you would have asked me about Romance novels, I would have made an uneducated snap judgment. I am not proud of that, but it is truthful. Although I would not have considered them true literature at the time, I certainly would not have judged anyone negatively for reading one. I remember as a girl visiting my grandmother’s house, she had shelves of romance books, with buff men, and women in long skirts with flowing hair, and heaving bosoms on the front. That is what I thought romance novel’s were, a damsel in distress, and a buff male hero on a white horse, swooping in to rescue her. I was so wrong.

After I wrote my first book, a dear friend of mine, who was very honest, said that something was missing from my romance novel. She suggested a few titles for me to read. I went in search of them at a local bookstore. I usually try to find what I am looking for on my own and had never come across an issue asking the store clerk for assistance before. As hard as I searched I could not find the title I was looking for, knowing I needed help to find the book (A Christine Feehan Ghostwalker Series Book). I asked the clerk who gave me a funny look, and then came out from behind the counter and showed me where the book was. I thought it was odd but shrugged it off.

My husband and I are bookstore bums, we love independent bookstores with second-hand books. An Americano, a rainy day and a huge second-hand bookstore is my perfect day! Many of these old stores are like labyrinths when it comes to finding a section or a particular book. In many cases, I would ask for help, only to see the same face that I encountered the first time I asked for a romance book. It is a judgemental look, that is loaded with miseducation and an opinion of what I should be reading instead. Over and over again, I have run into this look. Sometimes, it was even accompanied with an attitude of impropriety, like I was asking for smut or books that should be wrapped in brown paper. Surely I must be some sort of degenerate to ask for such a thing in public. The thing was, that could not have been further from the truth. Romance is fiction, not smut.

At first, this look and attitude would dissuade me from asking for help and I would leave the bookshop without the book I had gone in for. As I began to think about this I realized how ridiculous this was. I am a grown woman, I can read whatever I would like. Recently, I saw a post on Twitter about this subject, romance novels and female customers feeling like they had been slut-shamed for buying romance novels. A debate erupted and it really came down to opinions on what women should be reading vs. what they are reading. This debate, as any good debate does, made me think more about it. I won’t lie, it also made me angry. The romance genre has gone mainstream, and why should it not? Romance is creative fiction, like sci-fi or horror. I finally decided I was not going to put up with this judgment any longer. As a paying customer, I have the right to ask for any book that is carried in the store. I am not going to be slut-shamed for asking for a romance novel. I am a strong, smart, competent woman who may read whatever I want. I am also going to support all of those wonderful romance authors whose work deserves to be out there and sold just like any other book in the store.

Last fall, I ventured into a bookshop outside the University of Chicago. I have given them a lot of business over the years but not enough that the store owner knows my name. One day, after searching around the store for the romance section, I again had to ask for help, I could not find it. The conversation went something like this:

“Excuse me, can you please tell me where I could find your romance section?”

“You are like the fourth or fifth person to ask me today.”

“It is a growing genre.”

“Clearly. Are you a big romance reader?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Would you mind making some suggestions for our section, I am afraid it is sorely lacking?”

No joke, the owner of the bookshop asked me for suggestions on what to add to their romance collection! I was shocked. I had expected that same judgemental face but instead, I got the opposite reaction. I named a few authors off of the top of my head but said that if he wanted I would be happy to send a list of the works that I had enjoyed the most. He was grateful. A few days later I did send in the list and received a lovely email in return thanking me for the suggestions. I have not been back into the store since, but I am excited to see the improved Romance section when I return.

Unexpectedly, I found myself out in L.A. this past summer. There is an amazing bookstore dedicated to romance books only, called The Ripped Boddice. As I live outside of Chicago, I knew I had to go, it was my chance to visit this one of a kind bookshop. It was refreshing to ask the clerk where I could find the type of romance novels I was looking for. She and I even had a conversation about the romance novels we each enjoyed the most and why we liked them. This was some sort of romance book Nirvana. It was an amazing book buying experience. If I lived closer I would be a regular customer. This shop was started by two women, who embraced that smart women read romance novels. If you ever get the chance, I highly suggest that you stop by, you won’t regret it!

My point here is, that Romance authors and Romance novels are fiction just like every other genre. I have the right to read whatever I want, and so does every other person. Romance as a genre, I would argue can be even trickier to write than other genres at times, because emotions are complex, sometimes subtle and other times overwhelming. It is not always easy to convey these emotions in writing. So to all of my fellow romance authors out there, keep at it! By continuing to write robust and complex stories of love, we can grow the genre and remove the taboo.

I Do it For Her!

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(Ten Year Old Me)

I was a late reader. My family moved around a lot during my early education. I repeated the second grade and still could not read. Eventually, at my mother’s insistence, and I do mean insistence, testing was done. It turned out all of that time, no one knew I was dyslexic. Once it was discovered, the school knew how to teach me to read. I did not read my first full book until I was almost ten years old. It was beyond difficult to catch up to my peers. I would spend hours at the kitchen table doing reading homework and essay writing. I remember thinking it was some sort of cruel punishment that the adults in my life had devised.

Eventually, I did catch up and then surpassed my peers when it came to reading and writing. Yet, I did not love reading. It was something that I did for school, not enjoyment. Then one day it all changed. My parents rented the film Misery with Kathy Bates. I was about sixteen at the time and the film rocked my world, I had never seen anything like it. My dad who was a constant reader said, “You should read the book, it is way better than the movie.”

The next day I went to the library and checked out the book. To me, it felt like a mountain to climb, it was a big book. It just so happened that I had to complete a Saturday school the following weekend. It was basically a classroom where we all sat without any lessons being taught. We had to entertain ourselves quietly. I had decided to bring the library book with me, I had nothing better to do. The bell rang for the start of the day and I pulled out the book. I was transported to Paul Sheldon’s world, with his captor Annie Wilks, the words immersed me into their world. I had never had a reading experience like this before. I literally read the book through the entire day. Even though I already knew the story, from seeing the film, I could not put the book down. I was hooked.

When it was time to go home, once I got in the door, I went to my room and read late into the night. The next morning I woke bleary-eyed from staying up reading. I had never stayed up all night reading a book! I had finished the entire book. It might not seem like a big deal that I read a book but to me it was. I had never read an adult book all the way through. Over the next year, I made my way through the works of Stephen King. I owe a lot to him, his works taught me to love reading. I think I mentioned in an earlier blog post that I even read his book On Writing. I did not have any interest in being a writer at that time, I read it because he wrote it. I branched out from his works and read anything I could get my hands on.

Fast forward almost twenty years, very rarely am I not reading a book or several at a time. My nightstand is covered in stacks of books. I have read all sorts of books, fiction, and non-fiction. The only time in my adult life where I was not actively reading was when my children were born, I just did not have the bandwidth to read and stay awake. I longed for the days when I could sit still long enough to read and not fall asleep.

When I hit the save button book on the first book I ever wrote, a profound thought struck me, I, the dyslexic girl who couldn’t read or write just wrote a book. I had hated writing so much as a small child that I would have never thought I would have written something by choice let alone an entire book. As I sat at my computer looking at that word count and the work on the screen I began to cry. I had done something that ten-year-old Jackie would have thought impossible. It was a life-changing moment.

Now when I am crippled with self-doubt in the writing process, I think of myself at ten. I keep going for her because she is smart and she is capable. So to all of the kids out there who think they can’t or hate to read, you are smart, you can do it. You just have to find the right thing to read, keep searching, I promise it is worth it.

My First Book, Learning to Be Patient, and Half Moon Bay, CA.

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My first book came flying out of me, and I know that sounds a bit dramatic to say but it is the truth. I felt like I could not type it fast enough. I woke one morning after having the most intense and vivid dream of my life, thinking that would make a good book. I shrugged it off and went on about my day, I wasn’t a writer. Yet, the more I thought about it, I thought it would make a good book. Maybe I could write it, just sit and write down the story, it sounded simple enough. I laugh at that now.  I had no idea where to start, but as my husband says “put your arse in the chair.” I sat down opened my Word program (I now prefer Scrivener) and did not get up for almost a week. That week, I wrote through a cold, multiple technical issues, and two small kids at home. The teacups multiplied as I worked on, plates with food that had been easy to microwave were stacked around the desk. By day three, I realized I needed to shower, but I just couldn’t stop. I could not get the words out fast enough.

Finally, at the end of the week, the first novel I ever wrote was done. It was one of the best moments of my whole life. I had written a love story set with two unlikely people set in Silicon Valley. I thought it was brilliant. I am very lucky to have a few trusted people in my life who told me it wasn’t. “It had promise, keep working on it,” they both said. Normally I would have just walked away, thinking, I am not a writer. There was something different, something in me had changed. I felt like walking away would have been giving up on my characters, people who I had created. I went back to work, fixing plot holes, and adding depth to my characters.

I wrote and rewrote and edited again and again. The biggest compliment I ever got about the book was from Jon who said, “I just can’t stop thinking about your story it is so good, the writing is.. well..it is written by someone who has never written anything before.” I went back through the book again working at it, trying to get it right.  Finally, I got it to a point where I was ready for a few beta readers. I sent it out and the feedback was mostly positive, but Jon’s sentiment was echoed, the story is good, the writing needs work. I wanted to do more but I knew I had exhausted my efforts at this point. I needed to let it rest.

I put the book aside, knowing that I needed to let it rest and move on creatively. I moved on to other projects with the understanding that I would go back to that first book eventually. It has sat untouched for almost three years. I have often thought about picking it back up but I knew that the time was not right. I needed to wait.

That first book was important to me and still is. I set a large part of the book in Half Moon Bay, California. I told myself that the next edit/rewrite I would do in Half Moon Bay. I needed to be there, to smell the air, walk along the Pacific, hear the ocean. As a working mother, a student and co-owner in a business it was easier said than done. I just kept telling myself, “someday you will go.” I told myself that when I could find the time to get out to the coast I could rewrite the book there. I was firm with myself, I am not to touch the book until then.

Then by happy circumstance, two weeks ago I was informed that I would be going to San Francisco for work. It is scheduled so I can stay for a long weekend. I could not believe my luck when I got the news. I was in my car, waiting in line at Starbucks when I got the tickets in my inbox, it was real, I am really going to Half Moon Bay! I started to scream with excitement. I am normally a very composed person. I scared the poor barista who must have thought the worst. As tears streamed down my face, all I could say was, “I’m okay, I am going.” She must have thought I was nuts but I didn’t care.

I got to choose where I wanted to stay and of course I chose Half Moon Bay. I booked a hotel on the coast. Now I get to smell, see and hear the ocean, like the characters in my first book. I am going to rewrite it in the place that it is set. It is an amazing treat and I am so grateful for it! I am sure I will write about the experience. I leave two weeks from today and I cannot wait to dig in! I know a long weekend will not be enough time to rewrite an entire book, but it is a good place to start.

David and Naomi, here I come..

(They are the characters from the book.)