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Be a Weekend Writing Warrior!
In three days, I’m headed for the Midwest Writing Conference!
I’ll be rooming with the fabulous Sherry Stanfa-Stanley (if I can remember the name of the hotel) and workshopping, learning, and pitching.
Should be a good time.
While I obsess about what to pack (legal pads, check . . . deodorant, double-check), have a look at a few more sentences from Pigeons—which, for any agent or editor tuning in, is not a caper novel (right, Linda?). It’s a heartwarming mystery about a group of semi-reformed thieves using their dubious talents to get their boss a bone marrow donor.
In Vegas, baby.
McRae was fully aware that there were only a handful of people who could tell him he was wrong and make him listen: the judge who had finally convicted him of fraud, Blaine, occasionally Vince . . . and Judith.
Damn, it was good to have her back.
Nymphs in sheer chitons framed the entrance to the casino proper, but he didn’t give them a second glance before stepping into the grand maze of the casino floor.
He let it wash over him for a moment—not just the bells and whistles, the pulsing music, the colors and lights, but the feel of hopes and dreams and despair all coming down to a roll of the dice, a spin of the wheel, a bluff, a final call.
Vince spoke in his ear, breaking the spell. “Boss?”
“Entering the casino now,” he said, bringing his focus back to the job at hand.
Photo credit: www78 via Flickr