As you know if you’ve been following my blog for a bit that I’m doing major renovations on my previously written books in preparation for re-launching the whole series. If these books were houses, I would be doing a complete gut job, taking them clear down to the studs and, other than leaving the basic structure, making something that occupies the same space but is almost like a completely new house. To use a nerdy movie analogy, this would be like the Zach Snyder version of Justice League without all the odd slo-mo. The stories will be fuller and, I hope, more satisfying. The goal is for these books to all seem like really long chapters of the same, albeit monumentally long, book. I’m trying to clean up my prose, fix some continuity issues, and make the characters and their history and interactions more consistent from book to book. I want them to be much better reads, but I also want them to be different enought from the original products that I can honestly say to an agent that these are new books that have never been published before.

Toward that end, I’m quite deep into Harsh Prey, which is the first book I ever wrote, but will end up being #3 in the chronology of Harry and Dee’s life together. If you’ve never read that book, which may end up with a different title, or, more likely, you read it nearly a decade ago, you won’t know any different. But if you were to put the two books beside each other, the differences might surprise you. At any rate, I’m excited to hear what you think of this version. Here’s an excerpt from chapter one:

I stepped out of the shower and looked in the mirror. A shade taller than six feet, I was, in her words, absolutely delicious. I didn’t see it. I was already developing my father’s high forehead, though I kept my sandy hair cropped closely enough it was hard to tell. Years of long-distance running, weights, and martial arts training had kept my frame lean and muscular and held the family jowls at bay. A jagged scar above my left eye was partially masked by my eyebrow. It was her favorite place to kiss. I was saved from the abyss by the sound of the land line phone ringing in the dining room. Not many people called that number anymore, and when they did, it was usually business. I reached the phone on the fourth ring, picked it up without checking the caller ID while drying the left side of my head with a towel and held it to my freshly scrubbed ear. “Hello, this is Harry Shalan.”

            The silence on the line was mitigated only by a faint hum. “Hello?” I practically shouted. The silence continued. I nearly slammed down the phone, but as I took the earpiece away from my face,  I noted the number that was calling and time stood still.

“Hi Harry.”

A chill swept over me in spite of the warmth of the air, and my heart felt funny in my chest, almost like its tail was wagging. I wasn’t sure I could speak. I swallowed hard and rubbed my tongue along the roof of my mouth in a vain attempt to find some moisture. “Dee?” It came out strained. She would think I was mad or disappointed or I hated her. I had to fix it. “Hi, uh, hello. Yes, it’s Harry. I am Harry.” Well, at least she’d be less worried I was mad. Maybe that I’d gone mad.

“So. How are you?”

            Deep breath. “That depends. Are you calling from downstairs?”

            “I wish.”

“I wish is good, right? You didn’t say no way or never or that’ll be the day.” Why couldn’t I shut up?   

She giggled. Swoon! “Yes, it’s good. But I’m still far away, at least physically. I just needed to hear your voice.”

            “Well, you’ve heard it,” I said in a way that came out snide. I wasn’t sure how I meant to say it, but snide sure wasn’t it.

            “Yes. I guess I have.” Her voice was sad.

I was blowing it again. “Listen, Dee, I’m excited to hear your voice too.” I paced toward the bedroom. “Believe me, I need it. I never stopped needing it.” I paced to the back door. “I’ll never stop needing you. You just kind of caught me off guard.” I found myself back in the kitchen. I opened and closed the refrigerator door without really being fully aware of why. “I was starting to worry I’d ever hear from you again.”

            “Oh no, Mister Man, you aren’t getting rid of me that easily. I just needed some time to sort things out.”

            “Well. Um. ” I rubbed my unshaven jaw. “Are they?”

            A pause. “Are who what?”

            “Sorted out? Are things sorted out?”

Another pause. My heart, which felt funny before, came to a stop. The air left the room as I waited for the reply that I both longed for and dreaded.                     

“Almost.”

I feared I would suffocate. I needed oxygen. And Dee. “How almost? Kind of almost or almost-almost?”

“Almost-almost. It won’t be long. I miss you—a lot. And I need you. Badly.”            

Oxygen filled my lungs and my heart resumed. I wandered into the kitchen. Before I could gather my thoughts to reply, a crashing sound came from downstairs.

So, what do you think? Any critiques? Questions? Compliments? I’d love to hear from you.