The Rewrite Begins
This past week I’ve spent going over the rough draft of All That Death, the sequel to After the Service. I originally finished the draft back in June, but I’ve discovered that I really need to put a draft aside for a while, in order to get proper perspective on it.
That said, I hope I do have proper perspective on this one, because I really enjoyed it. It looks to me like All That Death is a better book than the just drafted Degrees of Murder, and that it will require less revision. We’ll see–I’ll be workshopping the book with various friends & associates over the next month. The plan is to have most of the revisions done by the end of the month, and then to have it published & available for purchase sometime this spring.
I’m going to post the first scene below the fold–an innocent seeming scene, with a mere hint of danger lurking beneath the surface. Keep in mind that this is still a draft, so nothing here is necessarily as good as it should be. Also, there are some spoilers for After the Service–nothing that would give too much away, but it wouldn’t hurt to go purchase that book before you read the excerpt!
David Kelter felt 12 again. It was Saturday morning, and he was eating cereal at his parents’ kitchen table while trying to watch TV, as he had on so many Saturday mornings a decade before. And, just like many of those mornings, his plans were being foiled by his mother, talking loudly to the nearby phone. Admittedly, it was the local news on the TV instead of cartoons, but other than that it was a familiar situation.
But this would be David’s last Saturday morning eating cereal at his parents’ house for a while. Today, he was heading back to Seattle Pacific University to begin his second-to-last quarter as an undergraduate. He was very nearly a graduate, with a bachelor’s degree in Christian Theology (plus a minor in journalism)—and he didn’t like feeling like a 6th grader.
Still, his plea of “Mom, I’m trying to watch!” couldn’t help taking him back to those halcyon days, but he shook it off and tried to think grown-up thoughts. The news was talking about the latest Killer Winter Storm preparing to come through the Puget Sound area, and he concentrated very hard on the forecaster’s dire warnings.
It was no good. The dramatic “Storm Watch” coverage was almost exactly the same as it had been when he was 12, and he still felt like a child. Grumbling inwardly, David went back to his Froot-Loops and stopped paying attention.
The next segment, though, quieted his mother down—she even said her goodbyes and hung up the phone. David looked up at the TV again and saw a familiar sight. His mother, with no hint of irony, shushed him before he said anything.
“The Seattle Health District released its report today,” the anchor was saying, “clearing the catering service at Seattle Pacific University’s Gwinn Commons of having any part E. coli outbreak that claimed two lives there in November.”
David pumped his fist in the air. “Finally!” The shock of the two deaths at the school had gradually dissipated, but the chaos caused by a closed cafeteria had endured. David lived off-campus, and didn’t eat at Gwinn very often—but even so, it was nice to have the option.
The news anchor went on. “Authorities have not yet determined the source of the infections, but say they do not believe the school, or any restaurant near the school, to be at fault.”
David’s mother pursed her lips. “I worry about you there, David, you know. All that death.”
David rolled his eyes. They had had this conversation before. “What do you mean, all that death?” he demanded. “There were two cases of E. coli poisoning, and they apparently didn’t even happen at the school—and neither did the other death.”
His mother’s pursing grew more strident. David was referring to an unfortunate incident at his church back in October, when he had stumbled upon the body of a murdered parishioner. The conversation in which he had told his mother about it had not been pleasant.
“Maybe not, but if it weren’t for God’s protection, you would have ended up as the other other death!” Oh, yes—that. His mother was referring to the unfortunate incident when the murderer of that parishioner had held David at gunpoint. The conversation in which he had told his mother about that had been even less pleasant.
“Oh come on, Mom,” he grumbled. He didn’t begrudge God credit, but he did like to think that his own quick thinking had something to do with his survival.
“Well, I’m not saying that you can’t go back,” his mother said.
I should hope not, considering I pay my own way, David thought. He took out his own loans, anyway. But his mother was continuing.
“I’m just expressing my concern. Can you accept that, please?” This was a typical exchange, and David ended it the typical way.
“Ok, Mom, I’m sorry. Thanks for your concern.” He glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. “Oh, hey—I need to go.”
“You have a meeting for your newspaper?” she asked, and he nodded as he stood up and put his bowl in the sink.
“That’s the one. Tell Dad goodbye for me, ok?”
“Of course I will,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “You be safe, ok?”
David chuckled. “No more hostage situations, I promise. I love you.”
“I love you too,” his mother answered. And with that, he was off.
