The first year I found out about NaNoWriMo, I was already about 3/4ths done with what would be two books. (Planning Vengeance and Dig Two Graves). I had written them and was in the process of cover design and beta reading. They were released at the end of November 2019. I did start You Don’t Know Jack during NaNoWriMo 2019, but that was late in the month, then I got sidetracked with the release of Planning Vengeance, then Dig Two Graves.

For NaNoWriMo 2020, I just couldn’t control myself. Officially, Triple Cross was the project, but I started it as soon as I had the idea. I didn’t want to wait to write it, but I did write 50k words in November… of a 97k word novel. I wrote almost half of it before, and a little after. I released in in January 2021. By the way, that is still one of my favorite stories.

When last year’s event came around, I wrote part of Angel (I called it Sniper as a working title). I wrote 61k words of a book that would be closer to 100k… I don’t remember at the moment. But it took me until July, 2022, to release it. There were a LOT of changes between NaNoWriMo and release. I edited that book up and down. I put it down for weeks, and even months at a time and worked on other things (which is why I have like six books in my pipeline at the moment).

This year I am actually setting aside a project that will likely never see the light of day. It is VERY different from everything else I have published. I feel compelled to write on it, but I’m not a fan of that story at this time. It needs to be reorganized and will need copious editing… and those are the least of its issues. (Working title is Cheater)

Instead, I have a new idea, and though it is a struggle, I don’t plan on writing the first word of the story until Tuesday. I have written a synopsis, so I know where it is going (not something I always do). I might try plotting it some more before I start writing (I’m writing this post Sunday, but not releasing it until Monday… When you see my blog posts, they are often written several days earlier). Kidnapped is the working title. It will be an action/romance with a lot of twists.

“She caught me at the coffee shop while I was taking a break earlier,” Ron admitted.

Terri quietly slipped up behind Morgan, kissed him on the cheek and then slipped into the chair next to her husband.

“Morgan, I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the funeral. The twins were out sick… I hope Ron told you. I was so sorry to hear about your dad. He was a great guy, and this town will miss him.”

“That’s fine, Terri. Thank you. Ron would have said something… but I was having a bit of a breakdown. Brianna came to the funeral.”

Terri reached across the table and took Morgan’s hand. The two of them had been friends since kindergarten and couldn’t have been closer if they were siblings. There was never a romance between them; he wasn’t her type. Harley was her first boyfriend. He was a big guy. The football coach had been pursuing him for a couple of years before Harley finally put his foot down and said he had no interest in games. Terri was a perfect match for him in those days. Harley was six-two, and she was five-eleven.

Ron had grown into himself soon after high school, as did Morgan. Morgan had been a skinny six-foot, while Ron was a couple of inches shorter and a few pounds lighter. Ron bulked up a little and gained a little more of a dad-bod over the following few years, while Morgan had remained trim but added a lot of muscle. Aside from his daily running, he also maintained a workout of push-ups, sit-ups and pull-ups. He had even done a couple of triathlons, although he really didn’t like the biking.

“I heard she is in town helping with her mom. As I recall, her dad isn’t in great shape, either. Anyway… what’s this I’ve heard about you being engaged?” Terri asked.

“Yeah… not so much anymore. Ophelia and I broke it off a week ago.”

“What happened? Your mom said you were doing really well,” Terri said.

“Subjects not to talk about for two-hundred, Alex,” Ron cracked.

Morgan nodded to his friend and shot him a thumbs up.

“Actually, I am doing well, though. I’m just doing well without Ophelia. Business has been good, although luckily I had a little break and didn’t have to rearrange things. I just finished a long shoot for the Forestry Advisory Council. I spent two months on the road shooting landscapes in forests that had been harvested. Before that, I had a bunch of shorter trips shooting power plants. But… the travel I was doing probably sped up the impending clash between Ophelia and me.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Terry said.

Morgan decided the cat was already out of the bag, so he regaled them in the whole story as they ate their dinner. He had gained just enough separation that he could tell most of it with a straight face, although there were more than a few times Terri unconsciously slid her hand across the table to Morgan’s to lend him moral support.

“I’m a little shocked you and Harley didn’t end up together,” Morgan said across the table.

“Jeez, Cap… I’m right here,” Ron laughed.

“All Harley ever wanted was to go into the Army. I really did love him, though. I knew even when we were dating in high school it wouldn’t last. But Ronny…”

“If you promise to stop calling me Ronny, you can go back to telling my lifelong friend how you were really in love with someone else… that’s a fair trade,” Ron joked, pretending to be offended.

“Stop, Ron,” Terri said with a smile. She leaned over and kissed him. “You know you are my soulmate. Harley was just practice for a real relationship with you. Anyway… when Harley left, Ron and I started hanging out, and I realized how much I really liked him. Despite the way he looks, he really is sweet.”

“Don’t forget the orgasms… lots of orgasms,” Ron said, trying to defend himself.

“That’s right… he has lots of orgasms.”

“Not what I meant,” Ron said with a joking pout.

“TMI, both of you. I’d rather not have to deal with a visual of that for the rest of my life,” Morgan said, waving for another round of margaritas. “I really am happy that you two found each other. And you seem really happy.”

Just after the next round of drinks was delivered, the waitress cleared the dishes they were finished with, then set down a dessert.

“We didn’t order this, Adrienne,” Terri said to the young waitress.

“Yeah… it’s from a woman over at the bar. She said she was a friend of yours.”

“Not a friend,” Morgan said after glancing back where the waitress pointed.

He pulled out his wallet and dropped enough cash on the table to cover the whole bill and tip, then rose from his seat. “That’s my cue. You guys can pick up the next one. It’s been great catching up.” He downed his drink and turned toward the door. As he briskly walked toward the door, Terri and Ron saw Brianna move from the bar to follow him.

“You look fine; makes me think of Easter. You hated wearing suits when you were little, too,” his mother whispered, stealing his thoughts.

“Morgan, don’t you have a few words to say about your father?” the minister asked, pulling him back into the present.

He rose and started walking to the dais at the front of the church, pulling his notes from his inside pocket as he walked. He climbed the three steps toward the altar, passing his father in the casket. He looked down at his old man, and noticed he looked just like he was sleeping. Peaceful.

Turning and looking out over the assembled mourners, he saw the church was full. It wasn’t surprising. His father had been well-liked, in addition to having lived his entire life in the small town. He’d been a deacon in this very church, and counselled prisoners at the penitentiary a few miles down the road. He had volunteered for Junior Achievement and Scouts, even after Morgan was past both of those programs. He’d been everywhere, which Morgan thought quite impressive for a man that was seldom awake after eight each the evening.

“My father was a rock…” he began. He glanced down at his notes and found it easy to expound on the man he had revered, but never wanted to emulate. It wasn’t that he didn’t respect his father… he respected his father more than words could convey. But his father had never wanted more than to live on his block and make that spot a better place. That was an enviable goal, but Morgan had wanted nothing more than to get away from that same block and never come back. And he had always felt the need to prove himself worthy… of what or to whom, he didn’t know.

Halfway through his notes, as he was scanning the crowd assembled in front of him, his gaze settled on one person. He couldn’t shake her. He couldn’t look away. If the reasons he wanted to leave his hometown were a constellation, she was the dark star at its center. Brianna Taylor Owen, his personal tormentor. She was thirteen years old when she decided to make the remainder of his life a living hell, and she lived that dream for five years, until he finally succeeded in running away. He was eighteen and she had just turned seventeen when he pulled out of town the last time.

After their eyes locked, he realized he stopped talking mid-sentence. He was lost in his notes, and the knot in the pit of his stomach told him his time in the spotlight needed to end. He could feel the blood draining from his face… and his brain. His knees felt weak, and he wasn’t sure if he would pass out or puke first, but he was sure both were coming. He’d had a couple of panic attacks before, but that last time he’d felt like this, the same players were on the field.

The very last time he saw Brianna involved him getting beaten up by Chad Owen and a couple of his friends. She flagged him down as he started his drive out of town, and two minutes later he was struggling to crawl back behind the wheel. He could still hear the guys that beat him down laughing as they walked away, Brianna already sitting in the front seat of Chad’s car.

He tried to quickly walk down the steps but stumbled. One of the few people in town he considered a real friend, Ron King, literally caught him before he face-planted on the carpet runner heading back between the pews.

“I got you, Cap,” he said quietly, discreetly steadying Morgan on his feet. A second later the two men, who hadn’t laid eyes on each other in a couple years, were headed back down the aisle as the minister called up the next person on the list to eulogize Milton Wilton.

“You ok?” Ron whispered, as they cleared the outer door.

As if in answer, Morgan turned his head away and launched a stream of vomit into the shrub next to the church. Then another. As his body curled up to deliver the third load, he collapsed into his friend’s arms.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Ron said. “Let’s get you somewhere to sit down. Here… lean against the building for a second and I’ll get you a chair.”

Ron disappeared through the doors and reemerged a moment later with a folding chair. He flipped it out next to Morgan, and then helped him sit down.

“I thought I lost you in there when you saw Brianna, man. You froze. It was like tenth grade all over again. I haven’t seen her in probably five or six years. She’s probably still evil. Damn if she doesn’t look good, though.”