Let's Bring Back the Serials!
I'm excited to announce that I will be publishing some of my books serially on my blog, absolutely free, in pieces small enough to read in just a few minutes each day. The old fashioned serialized novel, where an entire book was published in small parts in magazines that arrived in the mail each week or month (Charles Dickens is probably the most famous author who used this approach), is coming back strong! People these days are much more pressed for time, but many enjoy having a piece of a book "delivered" to them that they can regularly read each day, perhaps at the same time, and keep up with the story and the characters. It's a pleasant few minutes to look forward to each morning or evening, something to spice up the monotony of daily routine.
This is an experiment for me, of course. If it is successful, I will publish more of novels in this way. Please feel free to comment on this - reader feedback is encouraged and appreciated.
Enjoy the first installment of Wild Child, Book 1!
#FreeDailyReadingFix - Wild Child 1 - Part 1
Chapter 1.1
“Let’s swim over to the cliffs,” Briana said.
Kyle opened his eyes. The gentle rocking of the boat had almost
lulled him to sleep. He looked across
the water at the shore opposite them.
The cliffs appeared to rise up out of the water like the back of some
long, gray dinosaur. They were at least
a half-mile swim from the boat, maybe more.
Kyle said nothing and closed his eyes, hoping she might drop the idea.
After a few seconds, one of her tanned feet
jabbed him in the side. “Come on,
Kyle. Don’t be a major snooze.”
“I’m not being a snooze. I’m just not sure it’s a good idea, that’s
all.”
“No it’s not.
Not for a person who’s in good shape, anyway.”
Kyle sat up.
“I’m in good shape,” he said defensively. He gazed back at the dead-still expanse of
water she wanted to swim across. It was
a typical wild-ass Briana Fox idea, the type of thing that could get you
killed. He groped for another
excuse. “What if another boat comes
along? They might not see us.”
Briana laughed and pretended to choke on the beer
she was sipping.
“Get real, Kyle,” she said, motioning to the
deserted lake with the beer can. “Who do
you think’s gonna come?” She finished
off the beer and tossed the empty can into the stern of the boat, where it
rattled around with the others. She
looked back at Kyle and, raising one of her sun-bleached eyebrows, said, “I
think you’re chicken.”
Kyle sighed.
“I’m not chicken, Brie.” He
glanced up the lake towards the dam, then back in the other direction, where it
split into a series of smaller and smaller coves. She was probably right about there not being
any other boats around. It was a Tuesday
and they had come out to the lake at noon, right after Kyle’s last class had ended,
and they hadn’t seen a single boat since.
Now, it was almost three, and it would be at least another couple of
hours before the after-work fishing crowd began to arrive. But he didn’t like her pushing him into going
along with another one of her crazy stunts.
“We can’t just leave the boat out here in the
middle of the lake,” he said. “If my dad
found out, I’d be in big trouble.”
“Your dad,” she said with mock gravity,
imitating Kyle’s deep voice.
“That’s right, Brie. It’s his boat, not mine.”
She considered this, then gazed past Kyle and
out across the water. He could almost
see the devious machinery turning behind her pale blue eyes. “We’ll take the key with us. What could happen then?”
Kyle smiled and patted the sides of his
swimsuit. “No pockets.”
“I’ve got a pocket,” she said. Her face took on a mischievous
expression. She stood up and lowered one
side of her bikini bottom, revealing a small pocket that was sewn into its
mesh. In the process, she also revealed
a lot of skin, which drew Kyle’s eyes like a magnet. But he resisted the temptation to look. He had long grown tired of that routine.
Briana snapped her bathing suit back into
place, clearly disappointed that he hadn’t taken an eyeful. “So you’re out of excuses,” she said, holding
out her hand for the boat key.
Kyle sighed and pulled the key out of the
ignition. He knew this was one of those
times that she wouldn’t leave him alone until he gave in. Besides, if she could swim across, he
could. He handed the key to her and she
put it into her bikini pocket, turning her body to the side this time, as if he
didn’t deserve to see anything.
“Race ya!” she said, then dove into the water
and started swimming. Kyle made a quick
check of the boat’s interior, making sure nothing valuable was in sight—both
their cellphones were locked in the glove compartment—then dove in after
her. By the time he started swimming,
she was already twenty yards ahead of him, doing a hard American crawl. But he had no intention of “racing” her
anywhere—he knew that for this particular journey, he had to swim at a steady
pace and conserve energy for the long haul.
After a few strokes, he decided to roll over
and swim on his back. As he kicked, he
made a conscious effort to keep both his feet near the surface. It was only mid-September and the water was
still relatively warm, but every now and then, he passed through a cold
spot. This kept reminding him of how
deep the lake was (ninety feet where they were swimming, according to the boat’s
depth finder), which in turn would remind him of all the decaying junk that was
down at the bottom of it. Lake
Carlton was a man-made body of
water. The Army Corps of Engineers had
dammed up the Stones River about thirty years before to both control flooding
and generate hydroelectric power, and the resulting body of water covered acres
and acres of developed farmland.
Somewhere at the bottom of its murky depths lay algae-covered barns and
rusting cattle fences and dilapidated cars, all of which made Kyle uneasy. It was like swimming over an underwater ghost
town. Of course, the water was so deep
that you wouldn’t ever come into physical contact with any of it (in theory,
anyway), but knowing it was all down there bothered him, just the same. And rumor had it that down at the very
bottom, in the center of the main channel where the river had once been, there
were catfish big enough to bite your leg off at the knee.
Briana yelled something and pulled Kyle out
of his thoughts. He stopped swimming and
spotted her. She was a good fifty yards
ahead of him.
“Can’t you keep up?” she said, laughing.
“I’m not trying to keep up,” he said
irritably. He rolled over and started
swimming his backstroke again, this time at a leisurely pace to emphasize his
point. She loved proving again and again
that she was the better swimmer—she had been doing it ever since they had taken
scuba diving lessons together in the tenth grade, which was how they first
met. The teacher had divided the class
in half, and he and Briana had ended up becoming “breathing partners” and had
learned to share a single air regulator, swapping the black rubber device
between each other’s mouths. At first
they could hardly stand each other, but they soon became close friends, and
later, lovers...almost.
Kyle heard another sound and he immediately
stopped swimming. This time, it wasn’t
Briana yelling. It was a faint buzzing
sound that you could not only hear, but feel a little bit in your throat. He knew it well. It was the sound a boat’s propeller makes in
the water. On weekends during the
summer, you could always hear a whole chorus of them whenever your head was
under water.
He spun around in a circle, scanning the
lake. He saw nothing but his dad’s ski
boat, which was now about 100 yards behind him, and a lot of flat, still
water. He let his ears dip under the
waterline again.
There was no doubt in his mind—a boat was
somewhere nearby, maybe not within sight just yet, but close...
He spotted it. A speedboat, barely visible on the other side
and to the left of his dad’s ski boat.
The sleek yellow and black craft was moving fast, zipping across the
water, its bow sticking up aggressively.
He spun around towards Briana. “Brie!” he yelled. “There’s a boat!”
She was swimming as mechanically as a robot
and didn’t seem to hear him.
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