Libby Drew

An hour later, they were ensconced in a private room at the end of the hall on the sixth floor. Jase imagined tombs weren’t as quiet. As soon as Lucas closed the door behind the nurse, Jase’s headache backed off to a dull ache. Of course, that could have been the Toradol. “Nighty-night,” Lucas said, waggling his fingers. “See you when the happy pills wear off.” “Wait.” Jase tilted his head toward the bathroom. “I want a shower.” “And I want a pony.” Lucas tucked the blankets highe

You've outdone yourself with today's GIF.

The highest praise ever. Thank you. Four chapters to go... Many questions will soon be answered. 😉

I get nothing past you.

Lucas watched Jase go down, and his eyes shot to the man behind him, crowbar in hand. This must be Tony. Tony snarled, then raised the weapon again. Lucas leaped to intercept the blow, but the cold barrel of Colin’s gun stabbed into his stomach before he took two steps. “Don’t fucking move,” Colin growled. Lucas had been close to guns before, had hunted with his grandfather as a child, though they’d used rifles mostly. But he’d never had one aimed at him, and this one was wicked

Pleading the Fifth.

Remember in school when you had to take your list of vocabulary words and write a paragraph with all of them in it? Should try that with WotDs a week at a time. That would stretch my writing muscles.

Never one I've met at any rate.

Happy Thursday to me! Thursday is the one weekday I have off. It’s dark, cold and rainy outside at the moment. Perfect for snuggling in front of the fire. With the dogs. Which is fine. I love a solid dose of unconditional adoration. Who develops ideas like I do, I sometimes wonder? When a story starts as nothing more than a concept, leaving you to flesh out everything else -- characters, POV, time period etc. Many of my writer friends focus on characters. They have the perfect protagonist in their head and simply need a story for that person. But that’s not how it works for me, and here is case and point. While wading through my Google folders this past weekend, I found a doc titled The one where the protag saves people. I had no memory of it before I opened the file and started reading. It’s the beginning of a story I wrote many moons before I fully fleshed out 40 Souls to Keep. I was in love with the idea of visions, predestination, saving lives and mystery -- with a side of romance. This one obviously never got off the ground, which is one problem I have with starting to write before I outline. It never goes well for me. The one where the protag saves people will never be finished, because this concept has already been realized. It is Jase, Lucas and Macy’s story. But before that, it was going to be Issac, Jamie and Maddie’s story. It’s 5000 words of vision that was simply nurtured and turned out into the world in a different way. I do wonder if others share this sort of process. If interested, I’ve included a short excerpt of The one where the protag saves people, just to show how similar, yet different, it is from 40 Souls to Keep… ~*~ The vision of the girl’s death hit as the tall glass doors of Toy Villa slid open, beckoning him inside with warmth and bright colors. Isaac stumbled, caught his footing, then leaned on the closest shopping cart, fingers clenched on the handle until the images in his head faded and his stomach calmed. When he was steady enough to stand, he didn’t hesitate, just turned and trudged back into the parking lot toward the shiny black Range Rover, its bleached blonde owner and her chubby-cheeked spawn. On cue, fluffy snowflakes appeared in the air, slithered under his coat collar and melted against his neck. He gulped down the adrenaline and tried to smile. Chances were, the girl epitomized everything he disliked about kids these days, but Isaac didn’t want her to die. Couldn’t let her die if he had the chance to prevent it. One’s conscience was a bitch like that. “Ma’am,” he called, skidding across the pavement. “Ma’am!” He raised a gloved hand and waved. The woman had released her princess from her booster seat but was still hunched over inside the car. She wore a tight red sweater, knee high boots and (Christ Jesus, please make this fashion trend die already) ripped skinny jeans. Quite the pose. If you were into Internet porn. Which Isaac wasn’t. Mostly. Not straight porn anyway. “Ma’am,” he said again, louder, when he reached the side of the car. She continued to dig through her purse. From the corner of his eye, Isaac kept watch on the kid spinning circles in the brown slush, soaking her sparkly Uggs completely through. “Please be careful of your daughter in the parking lot. The salt trucks came through earlier, but it’s still slick.” She emerged and slung a handbag the size of roll-on suitcase over her shoulder. When she turned and caught him looming, her mouth drew into a frown. Isaac read the look, knew exactly what she saw. Tall, thin dude, faded khakis, snow-damp leather bomber jacket, brown hair gone over from fashionably shaggy to too damn long, and sparse goatee. Admittedly, he didn’t usually inspire women, or men, to swoon, but the implied distaste in her gaze, that bothered him. Tempting as it was to say, “Hey, in about thirty seconds, a pickup truck is going to come barrelling down this row of cars and flatten your kid. That’s what you get for letting her run amuck in an icy parking lot,” he didn’t. Because, of course, when that did happen -- in about twenty-five seconds now -- he’d have some ‘splaining to do. “She knows to stay close to the car.” Despite her words, the woman beckoned the child to her side. Isaac let his shoulders slump a bit in relief, but otherwise gave no sign his body was tense, his mind on alert. He sidled closer to the bumper of the Rover as well. It wouldn’t do to get killed himself, and since whatever gave him the visions -- fate, or the universe, or his mom’s prenatal pot habit -- never deigned to show him his own future, it was certainly possible. “Thanks. You just never know with weather like this. And some people drive like maniacs.” “But--” Her laugh straddled bewildered and condescending. “It’s a toy store.” Struck dumb, Isaac nodded. He wondered on occasion why the whole world didn’t come apart at the seams from sheer ignorance. “It is that. Still, I watch people drive through here all the time. Most go way too fast.” Her eyes narrowed, speculative. Isaac cut off her line of thought before more of it transferred to her expression, or God forbid, her mouth, and he got really pissed off. “I’m not a stalker or anything. I work here. Asset Protection.” Or, in simpler terms, nab the little urchins before they made off with unpaid merchandise. Big urchins too. Those were the worst offenders. “Ah.” A sliver of genuine warmth touched her voice. “Well, thank you.” Distracted by the apparent honest sentiment, Isaac almost died himself. The rev of an engine, the shrill screech of tires, and the woman’s scream of fear happened in the span of two seconds. Which was just long enough, because Isaac was one lucky bastard, to spring away from the bumper, grab the girl who had once again wandered from her mother’s side, and dive to the ground between the Rover and the next vehicle. The pickup slid past, clipping the bumper he had just been leaning against, and careened into a Mercedes three spots over. As frigid, dirty water flooded down the back of his pants and soaked his ass, he couldn’t help but wonder why more children weren’t kept on a leash. They may not bite (well, some did), but they sure as hell had no respect for their own mortality.

The sixteen-mile drive to the Marco Island bridge added nothing new to Jase’s ever-growing impression of Naples. The landscape was a checkerboard of tiled roofs and strip malls, with a listing fruit stand every few miles. The variation died once they crossed the Trail. The four-lane road that spanned the final eight miles was pretty enough, with landscaped medians, but even the most skillful landscaping couldn’t hide the water lapping gently at both sides of the road. Mangrove trees arched up an

Love the comments! Of course, I can neither confirm nor deny at this point, but I definitely getting a sense of which readers like to pick apart mysteries. Thanks for reading!

Thanks. Flashbacks are tricky, right? I didn't want to interrupt the flow of the story too much, but I felt the reader really needed a sense of what Jase has been through these past several years. Appreciate the comments.

Sometimes you just need a chicken sandwich. 😉

Truer words! Eventually, one's guard has to come down. Thanks for the comment. Glad you are enjoying the story.

Thanks! I was hoping Jase's few flashbacks would help readers understand some of what he's been through since his mission began.

Is she? 😉 Time will tell. Thanks for the comments!

Love the observations. Macy is indeed a survivor. Thanks for all the comments.

🤔 Hmmm... 😊 You always pick up on the smallest details!

The sun was almost over the horizon when Lucas pulled up to the security gate of Paradise Palms. Holding his breath, he punched in the universal access code he’d been given a few nights ago. The candy-striped bar rose in a series of jerks, and Lucas coasted under as soon as the Jetta’s roof had clearance to pass. He activated his GPS, instructing it to find the last programmed address, and soon the cheerful British voice was directing him to turn onto Mariner Drive. Night had covered the wo

Another informative, helpful post. Thank you. I almost always use a "bible", especially if the cast is larger, that encompasses physical, mental, and emotional traits for each character. Over time, those notes might come to include specifics such as particular items of clothing, favorite movies or foods, or even bits of dialog or favorite phrases. It's helped me with consistency over the course of writing the book.

A play script, even the best play script ever written, is only the third of a great play, the other two-thirds being the acting, direction and staging. As good a read as this play script is, I would still much prefer to see a well-acted and staged production of this play. But plays are written to be acted and not just read. I saw this play on my college campus ('bout a hundred years ago). I hadn't seen it before then and remember the performance as mediocre, but I loved the story. Thanks for the rec. I second it! A fine mystery.

Yes. This word always gives me pirate vibes as well.

March 2010 Jase pushed through the doors of Northwest Hospital right before lunch, thinking more about his empty stomach than about the woman he was there to heal. He wound his way through the main lobby, happy to be avoiding the ER for once, and stopped at the information desk. Twenty-eight was close, but his gnawing hunger made focusing difficult. “Is there a café or something here? You know...soup and sandwiches?” Anything too greasy was out of the question—the dream for number t

Left-handed? 🤣

Right?