FanPost

Words With Substance: Chapter 1

Now it's no secret around here that I'm a bit of a genius.  Having mastered the blog game, I felt it was best to turn my attention to bigger and better things.  I present to you, a sneak peek at my debut novel Forgetting How to Fly.  We pick up the story with our protagonist, Jeremy Mazoni, in the middle of a moral dilemma.  Keep in mind, this is 100% fiction and in no way based on actual events.

As he fled the fraternity house, Jeremy's mind raced, the distant cries of "Hey, stop that thief!" fading in the distance.  His pace slowed to an urgent mosey as he pondered his next move.  The wind picked up, whistling with a frank arrogance that concerned him a bit.  He decided to turn left, and continue on.  Moving east, the wind was at his back, making it easier to sprint without the bulky hindrance of the projector screen slowing his pace.  He hoped Barrett had made it out.  His place on the baseball team would not be enough to save him if he were caught.  But Jeremy was the star, the hero.  This indiscretion would be a mere afterthought, an insignificant detail easily overlooked, considering his accomplishments.   Headlights approached in the distance, but turned before Jeremy had a chance to find cover.  Continuing on down the street, he felt strangely comfortable despite his cargo of purloined goods.  As he made his way through the darkened streets he thought, this naive invincibility must only be felt by the truly criminal. 

To say that head baseball coach Skip Stare was annoyed by yet another early morning phone call would be a gross understatement, but not because of the time of day; Coach Stare usually began his day at around 4 AM for a brisk three mile run, with a light breakfast shortly thereafter.  The feeling of irritation in his chest came from who he believed to be calling.  In the recent months, run-ins with the law had been no stranger to the Mallards team.  Arrests and allegations ran the gamut from minor traffic violations to violent crimes, but in the slate-blue eyes of Coach Stare, they were all the same offense: breaking his trust.  He trudged slowly towards the telephone, as if to delay the inevitable disappointment for a brief moment.  He picked up the receiver, and braced himself...

 

On the edge of your seat, right?  Can't wait to hear more?  Well you'll just have to buy the book when it comes out.  I'm hoping to have a publisher any day now.  Otherwise, JShufelt is going to need more printer cartridges.

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